


The New Riders: A Legacy Continued

by YaelaTheWordsmith



Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: And wise teacher Eragon, AryaXEragon blossoming in the first 3 chapters, Battle stuff turns up late into the story, F/M, Gen, Multiple new characters which you might find confusing at first but it's fun trust me, New Cultures, Or At Least I Tried, You'll probably find a character you like, Young Riders growing and maturing, next gen fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-05-07 20:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 67,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14678415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YaelaTheWordsmith/pseuds/YaelaTheWordsmith
Summary: A continuation of Inheritance - about the new Riders, how they grow and learn at the Hall of the Riders, and how they battle the last threat Galbatorix left behind. Quite a bit of interpersonal stuff, some good action as well (uh, eventually). First three chapters - AryaXEragon blossoming, like the tags say.Crossposted, but, uh, stick with this please because the version on FFnet needs some serious revising.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Right, first fanfic I ever wrote, way back in '14, coming to AO3! Still feeling my way around, but I'm excited to be here. I hope you enjoy, Kind Reader.

Kira bounced up and down on the spot. 'Hurry _up_ , Dad!'  
Bergan emerged from the library, holding a thick scroll in hand. "Calm down, calm down, it’s right here!' the head of the Arcaena laughed.  
Kira snatched it from him so fast her hand was a blur. She was about to rush to her room when her father stopped her.  
'Kira.' His deep voice was serious. 'Be careful with it; it's a very rare and valuable copy, over six hundred years old. It contains extracts from the Shadeslayer and Arya Dröttningu’s diaries. People would kill for it. I'm trusting you; the council had no idea I'm letting you read it. Understand?'  
Kira paused, her spirits momentarily dampened by her father's' words and a tinge of awe. She ducked her head. 'I promise I'll take care of it, Dad.'  
Her father smiled, allowing her to bound up to her room. She jumped onto her bed so hard she actually bounced back up into the air, and eagerly unrolled the scroll.  
**'The defeat of the Black King and the life of Eragon Shadeslayer.'**  
The words marched across the top of the scroll in elegant, bold letters. Kira gently let her fingers trail over the words. She'd read the shorter version of this, the children's' version; now finally she was going to be allowed to read the adult version.  
She ran a finger down the scroll, muttering, 'Hatching, boring, training, boring, the Varden, violent, Durza, yeah, yeah, the siege, boring, defeat, heard of it, blah blah blah; yes! The New Riders!'  
She settled down to read. She knew it wouldn't be a dry and tasteless account of events. It would be alive and warm and real, full of emotions and humour and relationships. That was why she was so excited to read it!  
Her eyes fell on the portrait of the Shadeslayer, done when he had been eighty seven years old. Tall and regal, he stood with Brisingr resting point down on the ground, his hands resting lightly on the pommel. He had a captivating smile on his face, and the warmth from the smile had only just reached his light brown eyes, showing that he also possessed a certain force of bearing. His hair was a deep chocolate, curling over his intelligent brow, with hints of gold as the light from the setting sun bathed the left side of his face. He wore a simple yellow tunic, belted at the waist, with black leggings and a royal blue cloak embroidered with silver. The light caught his face in such a way that it showed off his high, rounded cheekbones, rendering him even more handsome. He stood with his back to a range of snowcapped mountains. Kira sighed with longing; even as a portrait he was enchanting.  
Next was a portrait of Arya Dröttningu. Technically she was Arya Dröttning, but that had been for such a short time that it was rarely counted. She wore a light white dress with flowing sleeves that reached her wrists. A delicate golden girdle set with jade encircled her waist. A similar circlet bound her long hair back just enough to stop it falling over her face, and instead it cascaded across her shoulders, dark and lustrous. Her deep green eyes sparkled, and her lips were full and light red, curving up in a light smile that was not enough to dispel the air of command about her. Everything about her was perfect, from her nose and cheekbones to her lissom figure. She looked everything she had been; elegant, beautiful, dignified. She stood in a position similar to the Shadeslayer’s, her hands resting on Támerlein’s pommel. Kira sighed again; of course, with someone like her around, there was no way he would have looked at any other woman. And she had to admit that they were extraordinarily suited for each other.  
She shook herself; she only had a limited time to read the scroll. Her father needed it back tomorrow, and she could not waste this precious time mooning over portraits, though she yearned to devour the portraits of Bjartskular and Thorn and Murtagh and Fírnen and Stronghammer and Dara, the Silver Rider and Ravûn, the Night Rider and- Argh! There wasn’t enough time! But maybe if she finished reading quickly-  
She let her eyes fall on the first line.  
_"After leaving Alagäesia, the Shadeslayer and the Bjartskular travelled southeast with their company of twenty nine elves until . . ."_


	2. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eragon meets his new students, and Arya wonders . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A kudos a day gets you another chapter!

Eragon stood at the doors to the Hall, waiting for - There! A spark of green fire arced through the azure heavens. Eragon could hardly contain his joy. Finally, he was going to meet Arya in person after three years! Finally, the turmoil in his heart would be resolved . . . one way or another. Finally, the new generation of Riders was here!

It took a lot of effort to restrain himself from whooping with joy and rushing down to meet them, but he did. Saphira, however, was not that controlled. She gave a tremendous bugle of exultation and reared up, though she managed to keep herself on the ground. Her joy increased his own. Looking around at the elves, he saw that they too had expressions of beautiful joy and excitement on their refined faces.

The green spark seemed to divide into four more; a red one, a brown one, a black one, and a pink one, all glittering in the morning light. Eragon bounced on the balls of his feet, impatient for them to land.

The dragons were quite close now. He could see them more clearly. All of them except the red one had the gangly look of youth. And he could see Arya! A gold circlet gleaming on her brow, her hair flying back, her eyes gleaming with inexpressible joy, back in the same dark shirt and pants she used to wear among the Varden, still looking as perfect as the day he had first seen her . . . his heart did a completely involuntary flip and ended up somewhere in his throat. Mirror conversations were never the same, though she had always seemed as happy as he was to talk. But he had rarely been able to talk in the first year, what with the construction of the Hall, and she, of course, had her duties as queen. In the three years since he'd left Alagaësia, they'd had, at the most, a handful of scattered conversations. They were bright spots of joy to look back upon, though far from enough. But she was here now!

He composed himself. Time enough to moon over Arya; right now he had to concentrate on not leaping down the steps like a madman.

The wind from the dragons' wings now whipped up clouds of dust, and there was a thunderous sound as they touched down. Arya leapt down lightly from Fírnens' back before his wings had even stopped flapping and ran to stand in front of Eragon, her face suffused with excitement and joy. The five-day trip from Alagaësia did not seem to have tired her at all.

"Shadeslayer." She bowed slightly.

"Shadeslayer." He bowed in return, grinning. She let out the most carefree laugh he had ever heard her give and then - to his surprise - hugged him. He gladly returned the embrace, though he was a little mystified. When had she suddenly become so casual?

Far above them, Saphira and Fírnen were having their own reunion and spared little thought for their partners.

She pulled back a little to look into his face. "You're taller!" she exclaimed. "Your nose is on level with my eyes.."

He smiled. "Well, three years have had their effect upon me."

'So you finally surpass me at something, hmm?" She smiled teasingly.

"I'll have you remember I was perfectly able to hold my own with you while sparring, after Glaedr gave me some guidance," he said, trying to act petulant but failing miserably. He just couldn't stop smiling. She chuckled. "We'll see how well you've kept in practice."

Eragon inclined his head, twisting his hand over his sternum. "Atra esterní ono thelduin, Arya Dröttning."

She stepped back a little, inclining her head as well. "Atra du evarínya ono varda, Eragon, sonr abr Brom."

She looked exactly the same. The sweet heartache he'd tried to keep suppressed for years now seemed to expand painfully within his chest. Despite himself, he said softly, "I've missed you, Arya."

Her smile grew a little wistful, and she replied as softly, "And I you. I did not realise what a dear friend you were to me until I no longer had you."

His own smile grew a little wry. Of course her words pleased him, but it seemed to him that she was giving him a subtle reminder that they were friends. Nothing more.

Ah, perhaps he was reading too much into it. It would be foolish to spoil this meeting with petty hurts and suspicions. He simply nodded in acknowledgement of her words, knowing she did not require any further response.

Saphira touched Arya's mind then, greeting her, and Eragon turned to Firnen. "It is wonderful to see you again, Firnen. How have you been?"

Firnen lowered his great green head, allowing Eragon to stroke the side of his jaw. _Well enough, Shadeslayer. The young dragons have given Arya and I much joy. They are a good lot, and we have taken them through tuatha du orothim, as you know . . . you will be pleased with them. Of course, as younglings, they are a rather recalcitrant lot, but still, they are eager and ready to learn. I hope you've not encountered much trouble here?_

"No, we've done well. Although it is rather lonely with only thirty of us. I hope the younglings will provide us with some excitement." 

_They are sure to do so._ Firnen raised his head, returning to Saphira. Arya moved to greet the elves, and Eragon finally turned his attention to the young Riders; all of whom, he now noted, were staring at him and Saphira curiously. 

The pink dragon seemed to be matched with a slender, snow-white maiden of fifteen summers. She had burnished gold hair, deep purple eyes, and rosy, delicate lips; in short, she was guaranteed to knock out any man at twenty paces. She blushed slightly under his gaze. Nevertheless, she did not avert her eyes, and there was a definite sense of strength about her. She reminded Eragon of Elva, with those beautiful yet haunting purple eyes. But where Elva's eyes were cynical, the Rider's eyes were open and eager. 

The elf seemed to be paired with the ruby-red dragon looming up behind him. He was quite young; Eragon judged him to be around thirty years old. He still retained some of the silvery sheen of elvish youth. His hair was silky black, straight and well-cut, and his eyes were a bright green, lighter than Arya's. He was handsome, as all elves were; but there was something familiar about him. Maybe the curve of his mouth, the lift of his eyebrows . . . ? They reminded Eragon of - 

"May I introduce the Riders, Eragon?" 

He started slightly. "Please do, Arya," he replied hastily. Saphira, listen! Saphira grudgingly disengaged herself from Fírnen. _The Riders don't look like much_ , she sniffed. 

_And the dragons?_

_Young, but they will be great. They are dragons, after all._

_Of course_. He smiled. 

_Was that sarcasm?_

"Osra, step forward, please." The young Urgal complied. Her horns were polished and delicate, and not yet very large. Her hair was long and lustrous, braided into a thick black rope that swung by her hips, and her eyes were a deep, translucent blue. It was clear that she was on her way to becoming a Kull. 

"Firesword." She bared her throat. He did likewise, smiling. "I'm very pleased you're here, Osra. The first Urgal Rider!" 

She smiled as well. "Yes. My uncle was very proud. He bade me give you his greetings." 

Your uncle . . . ?" 

"Nar Garzhvog," she clarified. 

"Ah! I'm glad he remembered me." 

_She will make her uncle proud, I think_ , said Saphira. Eragon agreed, noting the Urgal's air of determination. 

"May I introduce my dragon, Mánya," she said. The brown dragon beside her took a heavy step forward. 

Eragon opened his mind to Mánya, and she said, _I'm very glad to meet you, Shadeslayer. I hope I learn much from you and Saphira-ebrithil._

Eragon felt pride at being addressed as ebrithil flow into him from Saphira. He ignored her and answered Mánya, "I hope you will as well, Mánya. I am truly glad that you found a perfect match with Osra." 

Mánya did not answer. She simply allowed her pleasure to be felt, and then stepped back. Saphira repeated the exchange, brushing her snout along the pair's foreheads. 

_A pair of few words, that_ , commented Saphira. 

_Aye. But if they learn and work well, that will not matter._

__

Next was Ravûn and his black dragon. Ravûn was a dwarf of seven-and-thirty with curly chestnut hair, laughing grey eyes, and a rather handsome face. His dragon was smaller than usual, to adapt to the Rider's stature. 

__

"Greetings, Argetlam! We are very pleased to be here!" Eragon could not doubt that; the dwarf veritably buzzed with enthusiasm. He could feel a responding smile spreading across his own face. 

__

"I'm glad to hear that, Ravûn. May I know which clan you are from?" 

__

Ravûn's face fell a bit. "Az Swelden rak Anhûin," he answered softly. 

__

"Ah, I see." No wonder he looked so crestfallen - he had probably been ostracised from his clan for becoming a Rider. Eragon clapped his shoulder and tried to look as encouraging as possible. "You have a new family with us, all right? Remember that. I hope you'll be happy with us." Ravûn nodded, seeming heartened. 

__

"May I know your name now, please?" Eragon addressed the black dragon. 

__

_My name is Drëya, Shadeslayer_ , a deep, female voice announced.

__

__

_I've no doubt you were, Argetlam_ , came the dry response. 

__

'My apologies, Drëya. I did not mean to insult you.' 

__

_______A sense of acceptance came from her. That pair was rather strange . . . a lively, cheerful Rider together with a sarcastic, wary dragon; but they balanced each other out. Saphira repeated the exchange._ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_______The third Rider was the beauty. She smiled as she spoke in a strong, confident voice. "My name is Zelíe, Shadeslayer. I'm from Belatona. And this -" she gestured to the pink dragon," - is Rosalie. We both are very excited to be here." And he could not doubt her. She was so confident, so forthright, he could tell instantly that she lied very rarely._ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_______He answered, "I'm glad to know that, Zelíe. I hope we live up to your expectations." He then opened his mind to Rosalie and said, "And yours as well, Rosalie."_ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

She responded, _Thank you, Shadeslayer_. She was quieter, her mind-voice clear yet demure; but she was just as strong as Zelíe. Woe betide those who cross her path, Eragon thought dryly. 

__

_Indeed_. Saphira then proceeded to repeat the exchange again. 

__

_______The last pair consisted of the familiar elf and his ruby dragon. He stepped forward, twisting his hand over his sternum._ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_______"Atra esterní ono thelduin, Argetlam."_ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_______"Atra du evarínya ono varda, . . . ?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_______"Këyal," he supplied. "Un atra mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr."_ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_______"Eka elrun ono, Këyal-finiarel."_ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_______Këyal bowed, a slight smile lifting his face. Eragon continued, "I'm very glad you're here."_ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_______"It has been my dream, Argetlam."_ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_______Eragon hesitated. "Pardon me, but you seem familiar. Did I perchance see you at the Ageatí Blödhren, or perhaps in Ellesméra . . .?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_______"No, Argetlam. But you are familiar with my brother, Vanir."_ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_______"Ah, of course. How is he getting along?" That was why, then. Këyal was quite similar to Vanir; he had something of the same air of arrogance that Vanir used to have. There'll be trouble with him before we're through._ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_______"Quite well. He enjoys his work and has great respect for Queen Nasuada and King Grimmr." Eragon did not miss the omission of Orrin's name. He also noticed Arya's brief amusement and the other student's looks of chagrin at his apparent familiarity with Këyal._ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_______"I see." He smiled as he addressed the dragon. "May I know your name?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_My name is Layla, Argetlam!_ chimed a cheerful female voice. Eragon liked her name. It made sense, seeing as the name for 'ruby' in the ancient language was 'laeil'. 

__

_______"It's a pleasure to meet you, Layla. You are the oldest dragon, yes?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_Yes. Mánya comes after me, then Drëya, then Rosalie._ Her mind-voice was brimming over with joy, making Eragon grin. She seemed to be the most expressive of the four dragons. 

__

_______"I'm glad you're so happy to come to us, Layla."_ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_I've been looking forward to this meeting for a long time, ebrithil. Both of us have. Këyal has been going on about meeting all the talented spellcasters here for ages._

__

________Eragon laughed. "Well then, we will go inside, where you may meet with your celebrities in greater comfort, Këyal." The elf looked mortified and gratified at once as he bowed briefly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Eragon took a deep breath. He hoped that what he was about to say next was not too forward, and that it struck a chord, and that his students – strange to think that, his students – would not resent him . . ._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_Calm down, little one._

__

_Yes. I can do this. It's easy. I defeated Galbatorix, how hard can this be?_

__

__________Saphira rolled her eyes. Eragon mentally stuck his tongue out at her and then raised his voice to address all of them at once._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________"Before we enter the Hall, I wish to speak to you. There are some things you should know._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________"Your training will extend for a period of about four years. The next batch of Riders will be here in three, which means that you will help with their training as well. A lot of dragon lore has been lost in the hundred-odd years during which Galbatorix held sway -' the dragons hissed in unison at the name of the Black King, '- but the world has changed, and we must relearn. I do not mean that we will not have help; at this very moment, we have over a thousand books in our library, copies of the best in human, elven, Urgal, and dwarven literature. We even have copies of some books written by Riders, and those especially will guide us._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________"Now, a few rules. At the Hall, you will treat all of us with respect. You may address Saphira and I as ebrithil in the ancient language and as master in this one, naught else. These -' he gestured to the elves,' - are some of the oldest and wisest elves Alagaesia has ever seen. They are at the very least four times your age and are all accomplished spellweavers and warriors. They are here to help you learn. You will treat them with utmost courtesy and do the same amongst yourselves. You are all different from each other, which is well; it signifies an equal beginning for all the races in the shaping of the fate of Alagaësia. But keep in mind that your fellow Riders may have different beliefs or values; accept them, or, at the very least, do not challenge them before understanding them._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________"Here at the Hall, you will learn magic, diplomacy, the customs of each race, swordfighting, archery, medicine, mindblocking, and much more. Saphira and I will do our best to teach you; keep in mind that we are not very much older than you." Eragon smiled ruefully. "But we have been through far more than you have ever dreamed of, and so we make up for our years by possessing what you don't - experience. If we are failing to fulfill the standards you expect of us, feel free to say so. But -" he allowed a hint of steel to enter his voice, "- we expect some effort on your part as well._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________"You will work hard and quickly, for Alagaësia needs you as soon as possible. You will not underestimate your importance. You are the Riders, continuing a legacy of thousands of years. This is not a burden to be borne lightly. I had to bear it when I was but sixteen, and I fully intend to inflict it upon you." He smiled slightly, and his students relaxed as slightly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________"The Riders were teachers, healers, and helpers, not just warriors. They were respected, not feared. Understand the difference; we do not need another Galbatorix." The dragons hissed again, and the Riders looked indignant. "I do not mean that I think you will be, but I wished to make my position clear to you all. I want to like you and get to know you, to be your teacher and your friend. And I hope -" he now smiled warmly, "- that that will happen."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________"Now, we will eat, I'm sure you all must be tired from the trip. Today, you may all rest. Tomorrow, I will talk to you and clarify any doubts you may have about being a Rider."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_What about the armoury? Their swords?_ Saphira asked. 

__

__________He hesitated, shooting a quick glance up at her. "Also, if you wish, we can visit the armoury. We recovered hundreds of Riders swords, at least one will be sure to fit you. But it can wait until tomorrow . . ."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________"May we please see today?" asked Osra eagerly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________"Yes, of course. But for now, come in. You all must be starving."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________Everyone relaxed. The Riders streamed into the Hall, concentrating on reaching food as fast as possible. The others followed at a more leisurely pace. Arya walked next to Eragon, murmuring, "Well done, ebrithil!" He chuckled in response._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________"It's an impressive castle you have constructed," she continued._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________"Yes, it is, isn't it?" He turned his head, wanting to look at her, relearn her expressions and features -_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________\- and nearly walked into Ayana, who was trying to peer over fellow elf Elaren's shoulders. There seemed to be a holdup. He pushed his way to the front of the new Riders, worried that something had happened; but they were just staring at the Tower. Osra and Zelíe were standing stock still, mouths open. Keyal and Ravun were a bit more composed, having seen or heard of such structures, but even they could not hide their stunned expressions. He relaxed, glad that nothing had happened._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________The Hall was a massive building that, even with the elves' magic and the abundant resources of the new land, had taken an entire year to erect on top of the cliff, Ilianbaen. It faced the abundant grasslands to the west, towards Alagaësia. Its northern side faced jungles, lakes, mountains and wastelands, and its southern and eastern sides faced the ocean. It was made of a smooth, banded stone that even Saphira had to breathe fire on for many minutes before it would melt. All the entrances and passageways were at the very least large enough to admit dragons the size of Glaedr, in preparation for future Riders and the growth of their dragons. Many of the main corridors allowed dragons the size of Belgabad. There were over five hundred rooms including the training room, armoury, Dragon Room, kitchen, and dining hall, spread out over the rectangular North and South wings that flanked the Tower._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________The Tower was a huge, cylindrical structure that was as large as Tronjheim. Its top was open to the sky to allow dragons easy passage. It had a cover for when the weather was violent, but even with the cover closed, it was large enough to allow several dragons flying space. A staircase spiraled up the inner wall, its path mimicked by multi coloured Erisdar, and led to a wide ledge on the outside of the Tower where one could enjoy a breathtaking view. Right now, the Tower was open, allowing a massive shaft of golden light to enter and illuminate the motes of dust floating in the air._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________The base of the Tower had a . . . garden was too insufficient a word. Jungle might be closer. It was divided into quadrants by white marble paths, again, big enough for Belgabad. The northeastern and southeastern quadrants were where all the crops and fruits were grown; maize, wheat, cotton, plums, peaches, apples, strawberries, tomatoes, potatoes, and many more. The southwestern quadrant held the Maze, a huge intricate puzzle made of tightly interwoven trees which took hours to escape from; and the northwestern quadrant held an exquisite garden with fountains, trellises, and benches, as large as the gardens at Tíaldari Hall. All kinds of exotic plants grew there; plants that glowed, plants that poisoned, plants that healed . . . the most beautiful flowers and delicious fruit flourished in the enchanted atmosphere._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________Arya let out a soft breath. 'It's . . . magnificent!' Eragon nudged her, smiling, pointing to the closest flowers. Creepers laden with pretty, pale blue, bell-shaped blooms decked an arched, intricate metal walked over to them and knelt, caressing them with tender fingers._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________†_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________"I was unable to gild them for you, but if you are satisfied . . ." Eragon grinned._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________Arya smiled as well, remembering that night. "The flowers grew, you know. I went back to see. That patch of ground looks like it has been covered in molten gold."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________"Really?" She could hear the surprise and excitement in his voice. In some ways, he was still young, though certainly not in as many ways as before. When he had been speaking to his new students earlier, for instance, the stern authority in his voice had startled her._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________"Yes. I took some home to Ellesméra, and they are flourishing there as well."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________"Ah, that's wonderful. I'd like to see them . . ."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________"I can make you a fairth, if you'd like." She stood up._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________"I would, yes." They followed the others, who had moved a little way ahead during their conversation._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________Eragon was a little quieter now. His face gave away nothing of what he was thinking. Usually she was quite adept at reading faces, and he had always given away too much, but now she couldn't discern much. She felt a gentle jolt of sadness. The last time she had seen him, his mind had matured beyond his years by the memories the Eldunarí, but they hadn't changed his behaviour much, only his manner of speech. Now it appeared as though the changes had had enough time to sink in. She'd thought he was the same when he'd greeted her earlier, but soon he'd begun to seem too much like an elf. Too proper, too careful with his words._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________His curious way of viewing the world had always amused her. It had been a relief, actually, after only associating with worn adults hardened by war and loss, to talk to someone with a view so unclouded. But he was just like them now. Did that mean his name, his feelings, had changed? And if it had, would she still bring up the topic she needed to speak to him about?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________They made their way to the spacious dining hall to eat, and Arya's worries were pushed aside by the freshness and deliciousness of the food, and then by the beauty of the Hall. The elves were housed in the North wing, and the Rider's rooms were in the South wing, with space enough for their dragons. Most rooms were provided with balconies that looked out onto a glorious view, as did the plentiful windows set into the walls of the corridors. All the rooms on the topmost floor, ten stories high, gave onto a terrace that ran right around the entire Hall and contained a profusion of flowers and creepers._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________The training room, the kitchen, the library, and the armoury were visited one after the other, all spacious and beautiful. She was impressed by the thought that had gone into creating the Hall. It was truly a magnificent structure._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________It was only at night, when she was shown to her room and bidden a cheerful goodnight, that she had leisure to think upon what to do. She realized, rather ruefully, that she was piqued by how politely Eragon was treating her. He'd declared that his feelings for her would never change. Had she been a fool to believe him?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_I think he just doesn't want to be pushed away again. He's not taking any chances. He doesn't want to seem too forward._

__

Arya settled against Firnen's side. _So he's erring on the side of caution?_

__

_It would seem so._

__

_Mmm._

__

_Don't assume anything until you've talked to him properly, alright?_

__

_Mmm._

__

_Don't worry too much, Arya._

__

__

__

_Yes, Firnen, I hear you_. She smiled slightly. _How is Saphira?_

__

__

__

Firnen stretched in a pleased way. _She is well. We're going to visit the beach tomorrow evening, and fly over the ocean._

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_Just the two of you, hmm?_

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Firnen placed his head beside her and closed his eyes, radiating anticipation and pleasure. _Yes, just the two of us._

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Arya shielded her thoughts from his so that they wouldn't disturb him as he fell asleep. He needed his rest after the long journey. And as for her worries - perhaps she was overthinking this. Perhaps she had forgotten exactly how Eragon was, after so much time spent apart. In any case, she would find out in due time. 

__


	3. Arya's Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title says it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How random is that thing about Arya and dresses? :P

 

Arya was awoken by a soft knock on her door. "Yes?" she called.

Eragon tentatively peeped inside the room. Arya blinked at him, then hastily pulled her blanket closer around her. She wasn't exactly dressed.

'I apologise for rousing you at this early time, Arya, but I would like to show you something before the others wake.'

'Of course. If you could step outside the room for a moment, I will be with you shortly.'

As the door shut, she sighed. Firnen had been woken too, and he nudged her gently. She quickly changed into a simple dress, cleaned her teeth, and ran a comb through her hair before stepping outside.

Eragon was leaning against the wall outside, staring down at his feet. When she appeared he smiled in greeting. "A dress?" he asked as they began to walk.

"I don't actually have an aversion to dresses, Eragon. It's a matter of usefulness. Leggings are generally more convenient."

"So you have no personal preference?"

"Not particularly."

"Huh . . . what did you wear when you were growing up?"

She gave him a half amused, half exasperated look. "You seem inordinately interested in the matter of my dress."

Eragon as he was before would have been a little abashed by this statement. Perhaps he would have turned red. Now, all he did was laugh. "Sheer curiosity. Am I not supposed to know?"

She shook her head, but answered. "I wore dresses, as far as I remember. But when I became an ambassador, pants were by far more practical; for travelling, for riding, and for fighting. Besides, it helped people not to see me as a woman."

"Why would you want that?"

She paused for a moment, thinking about how to phrase her answer. "Not wearing a dress distanced me from the feminine. It made me an oddity, and therefore less approachable. Less desirable. And being undesirable was an advantage, since I was surrounded by men most of the time . . . men who might not respect me or my privacy. That was also why I kept to myself, as far as I could."

They walked in silence for some time after that. Arya could see that Eragon was thinking about her answer. At length, he said, "Did you have a lot of that kind of trouble? With men not . . . respecting you?"

Arya sighed a little. "At the beginning, yes. I was perfectly able to take care of myself, and I had Glenwing and Faolin, but they were persistent. Both men and dwarves. It made me a little cynical, I think. But I didn't face much trouble after three years or so in the Varden."

"Mmm."

She glanced at him, trying to read his face. He looked a little more serious than usual, that was all. Not being able to guess what he was thinking was frustrating, to say the least.

_This is probably how he felt when he could never see what you were thinking._

_Fírnen, go back to sleep._

He left her with his laughter ringing in her head.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"The Dragon Room." Ah, good. She was looking forward to seeing it for the first time; and she'd be able to talk to the Eldunari again.

They crossed from the South Wing to the North wing, passing through the garden. It was so vast that it took them twenty minutes to cross, even with their elvish speed. Once they reached the North Wing, Eragon looked around to make sure no one was there, and then touched a tiny knob of quartz set in the stone wall of the main corridor. The section of wall to their right slid noiselessly upward, and there was . . . nothing. Naught but a small room, empty of any furnishing.

Arya's brow furrowed slightly as she sought an explanation. Surely this was not the Dragon Room?

Eragon quickly went over to the top left corner of the room and knelt. Placing his hand on the floor, he muttered, ' _Reveal.'_ A line of light flashed from his palm and traced a large square on the dusty floor. The square of light glowed for a moment before fading into oblivion. There, on the floor, was now the clearly marked outline of a trapdoor. 'Ládrin,' Eragon commanded. The trapdoor quietly opened, revealing a set of stone steps heading underground. By every seventh step, two red Erisdar glowed on either wall.

'After you.' Eragon moved back to let Arya enter the passageway. She stepped down carefully, he eyes adjusting to the gloom. Once they did, it was a simple matter to descend, though the steps were steep. The staircase spiralled downwards, deeper into the ground.

After nearly eighty steps, by her reckoning, they reached a tall set of narrow, gilded doors, exquisitely carved with scenes from the dragons' history. There was Du Fyrn Skulblaka, the time of the Riders, their near extinction, and their revival. Eragon was there too, cradling a blue egg in the forest. He now said, ' _I, Eragon Shadeslayer, have the permission of Umaroth to enter this room.'_ And the doors swung inward to reveal the Dragon Room.

It was a large, octagonal room. At its center stood Cuaroc, a motionless statue. A huge bronze brazier burned bright behind him, bathing him in deep shadows. The Room was lined with shelves all the way up to the high ceiling. The shelves on its left side held the eggs while the other shelves held the Eldunarí, which pulsed with a steady light. There was no need for the Erisdar here; the fire and the Eldunarí provided all the light needed to see.

Eragon then said, ' _I, Eragon Shadeslayer, give Arya Dröttning permission to enter the Dragon Room_ ', and Arya found herself able to step inside. She knew she should be awestruck, but she had seen this place enough in Saphira's memories that had reached her through Fírnen that she did not admire the Room itself; what she revered was the fact that this room contained the last fragment of the dragons' history, as well as their last hope for survival. She opened her mind and exchanged greetings with the Eldunari.

As she did so, she gave the room a cursory glance, and something caught her eye. She walked up to a silver dragon egg three feet wide and just touched it with her fingertips. 'Eragon, will you give me this egg as part of the next batch?' There was something special about this egg. It had a sense of destiny about it; a sense that it would bridge an important gap.

'Of course, if you wish it, Arya. Would you like to choose the others as well?'

She chose a blue egg, a white egg, and a green egg to go with the silver one. All the while, she kept up a flow of light, easy chatter with Eragon, and he responded as easily. She began to feel like her friend had been returned to her. Indeed, they were talking about inconsequential things, but there was an ease, a lack of tension that had previously been absent. Perhaps her worries from last night had been unfounded after all.

 _Arya, the sun is up._ Fírnen's voice startled her.  _You should get back soon._

 _Thank you, my prince._  She hadn't realised how late it was getting. He responded with a wave of affection at the endearment, knowing that he was forgiven for his teasing.

 _May we fly today?_  He was almost pleading.

 _Of course. I'm looking forward to flying through the Tower._  His joy caused her to smile broadly.

'What is it?' Eragon had noticed.

She tapped her temple. 'Fírnen. He was informing me that the sun has risen.'

He nodded. 'Yes, we should leave. The students should not know we were here.'

'Why not?' she asked, as they left the Room and started climbing the stairs. 'Do you think the students will endanger the Eldunarí? Their dragons do not have such bad judgement.'

'I have no doubt of the dragons' judgement,' he responded. 'I have noticed how they seem to have chosen young and appealing Riders; that will be an advantage, when the Riders return. No one would suspect Zelíe of being a danger, for instance. But I wish to be safe; I will introduce them to the concept of Eldunarí in a year.'

By this time they had reached the small antechamber. Eragon climbed out first, and then courteously offered a hand to assist her. She made no move to take it, but simply looked at him with a slight smile, arching an eyebrow. He chuckled and withdrew his hand. She gracefully climbed out and moved to the corridor.

'You should know me better by now.'

"I do." He shrugged ruefully. "But I thought it was worth a try."

She shook her head, then asked, "What will you be doing with the Riders today?"

"I will tell them the history of the Riders, what it means to be a Rider, and our abilities. I also wish to learn more about each them," he replied, as he touched the button that would bring the wall down again.

"I see. Only . . ."

"Yes?"

"I thought we might be able to speak together, as we used to do before you left. But if you're going to be busy-"

"Not at all. I should certainly be done before evening, if not before noon. How about when Firnen and Saphira go off for their flight? Then Blodhgarm and the rest can get some time to speak to you as well."

"That would be fine. Where shall I meet you?"

"How about the southernmost point of the terrace? "

"Very well. I shall see you then."

†

Eragon's' head spun as he watched Arya's graceful figure receding. Had that really just happened? Had Arya just asked to be with him alone?

 _Oh, stop thinking so much about this,_ Saphira groaned.  _This would be so much simpler if you were a dragon._

 _It would, wouldn't it?_ Eragon grinned, but his face grew warm as he remembered how Saphira and Fírnen had reacted to each other the first time they'd met.

He now adopted a patronising tone.

_But you see, Saphira, this is part of the magic of being in love. I wouldn't expect a mere dragon to understand._

_A mere dragon? Dragons are the most powerful, wise, majestic, beautiful, graceful, brave, ferocious-_

_Vain, proud, touchy,_ he continued dryly.

Her huge paw struck him in the chest and pinned him to the floor, bringing her huge head directly over him. His head slammed into the hard floor, stars dancing behind his eyes.

 _Saphira, that hurt!_  he complained.

Her eyelid went  _snick!_  as she blinked, obscuring the giant blue orb of her eye for a heartbeat. After a moment, she released him. He slowly got up, rubbing his head.

 _You're lucky I don't shake you like a hatchling for that comment,_ she sniffed.

He grinned ingratiatingly at her, and felt her mood soften. He patted her side.

_Let's go get some breakfast._

After breakfast, Eragon and his students gathered in the spacious training hall, which was stocked with every weapon imaginable, from maces and axes to bows and lances. They sat cross-legged on the floor, all the new Riders listening intently to Eragon, who was describing to them the history of the Riders. He knew he shouldn't rush his narration, but he wanted to get this over with as fast as possible so that he could meet with Arya. He took a deep breath and composed himself. It would not benefit either the Riders or Alagaësia if he did not teach well.

He started off with the reasons for the formation of the Riders – Du Fyrn Skulblaka – then went on to speak about Anurin, Vrael, and Galbatorix and the Wyrdfell. They were getting closer to the part that Eragon suspected they most wanted to hear; about how he had defeated Galbatorix. He smiled to himself and continued.

Next came Brom and his role in starting the Varden and arranging the deaths of several of the Forsworn. Eragon could not speak about this without getting a small lump in his throat. When he saw Zelíe looking at him quizzically, he said shortly, "He was my father."

He ignored their varied expressions and continued about how Hefring had stolen Saphira's' egg, how Arya had ferried it back and forth between the elves and the Varden, how Durza had attacked her due to which she had sent it to him, how she had hatched for him, how his uncle had been killed by the Ra'zac-

"What are Ra'zac?" asked Ravûn.

"They are a race of creatures that prey upon hatch from eggs and look like black, twisted humans until they reach maturity, whereupon they shed their exoskeletons and transform into huge, hairless creatures with leathery wings, called Lethrblaka in the ancient language. They cannot use magic but can incapacitate humans with their gaze, which inspires terrible fear. They are creatures of the dark and hate light and deep water. They are now extinct; I killed the last one. They had been eradicated under the old Riders. The priests of Helgrind used to worship them."

'Oh.' Ravûn's voice was suddenly very small.

He continued his narrative, struggling to keep his voice from breaking when he talked about Brom's death; he had talked about it before, but somehow it was different with these youngsters listening, their solemn faces conveying the deep sympathy they felt.

He continued speaking, his deep voice filling the room. Four hours had passed by the time he had finished recounting all of his experiences. The questions his listeners had put to him were extremely pertinent and confirmed that he had succeeded in drawing sufficiently accurate conclusions about their characters. Osra, especially, was deeply intelligent; she rarely spoke, but when she did, it was either a clever remark or an insightful question. Ravun and Zelie were bright as well and took care to listen to him carefully. All of them could already use magic.

When their session was over, it was far past noon and he felt fairly certain that all of his students now knew the basics of magic and had a clear idea about what being a Rider meant.

After lunch, he watched the four new dragons twist and spin though the Tower while Fírnen and Saphira watched, giving suggestions and rather harsh criticism.

By the time he was through with them, the stars were beginning to twinkle bright in the blue-black sky. He set off to meet Arya, and found her on the terrace with Fírnen, the breeze playfully tossing her long hair about. Her slim hand rested lightly on his huge green side, rising and falling with his breathing. He was about to call out to her, but paused, struck by the majestic sight they presented together. He must have made some small sound though, for she turned and, upon seeing him, walked towards him. Suddenly, Fírnen's huge head swung between them. He ruffled her glossy hair with his breath, and slowly blinked. She smiled faintly and patted his head. The jade dragon moved his head back again and took flight, joining Saphira in the evening sky, and she came up to Eragon, inclining her head in greeting.

'Good evening, Arya. There is a room just here where we can talk. . .'

They entered a small room through a pair of tall glass doors. The room was furnished with naught but a couch, a rug and a small table with a branch of candles on it. Long, white curtains fluttered gently by the open doors. They settled themselves comfortably, and Eragon raised an eyebrow, doing his best to appear carefree despite the nervous thrumming of his heart..

"So, what would you like to talk about?"

†

They talked for a long time, growing more and more comfortable as time passed. And Arya began to see that his name hadn't really changed; he was only better at hiding who he was.

As the conversation skipped from Nasuada's reign to her treatment of the magicians to Arya's reign to Sloan to Roran, like an energetic child, her worries about his identity melted away like mist in the sun, leaving behind only one - whether he still meant what he had said that day, when he'd met Firnen for the first time.

She hoped he did, for otherwise what she was about to say would not result in a good ending. But she had to speak to him, to learn what he felt and also to banish uncertainty from her own heart.

She waited for a lull in the conversation. Eragon had his legs stretched out under the table, and was leaning back against the back of the couch, eyes closed. The candlelight flickered, casting dancing golden lights in his brown hair. It was the first time she'd seen him without either the stress of war or the stress of rebuilding Alagaesia upon him, and peaceful and relaxed, he looked . . . happy. Thoroughly contented and tranquil. Arya was loath to disturb him, but she did.

"Eragon."

"Hmm?" He didn't open his eyes.

"The day you met Fírnen, I promised that I would always be available to help you. That promise still stands."

He opened his eyes at that, and looked at her. When he did not respond, she continued, "That promise will always stand. However, if I am to help you - if we are to meet or communicate or work together at all - there is something we need to discuss."

Still he was silent.  _So he has learned patience, hmm?_ There grew within her an unholy desire to test it by staying silent for a while, but she restrained herself. That would not be fair to him.

" . . . What will become of us?" she quoted softly.

He sat up straight, alert and wary, all tranquility banished from his frame and countenance. Yet his expression was only serious and attentive; still she could not read his thoughts. Frustration began to build inside her. She'd never realized before how much she'd depended on her ability to read people of the younger races.

She sighed to herself. All she could do was forge ahead.

"You remember what you said that day?"

"I do," he said softly. "And I remember what you said as well."

It was a calm statement, hard to respond to. "Yes. I said . . ."

"You said perhaps."

 _A succinct summary,_  she thought wryly. "I said perhaps. Now - " She fell silent, unsure how to continue. They sat for a minute in silence as she tried to reorganize her thoughts. At length, she said, "Is your name the same, Eragon?"

"I - what?"

"Has your name changed?"

His mouth tightened. He understood exactly what she was asking. "That is not a question you should be asking me, Arya. You should not need to ask me. I told you then that my feel - that my name would not change."

 _So indignant_. She smiled slightly, amused. "So it has not."

"Certainly it has not."

Arya nodded, then clasped her hands together and leaned her elbows on her knees, looking at the floor. "Forgive me for asking. I find myself unable to read your intentions, your expressions as easily as before . . . What I wish to say is that, if you are still willing, I am prepared to be your mate."

There. She'd said it.

She glanced at him for a moment. He looked quite shocked. "You . . . are?"

"I am."

"Why?" The word was incredulous, blurted out.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was Eragon. She had nothing to fear by telling him everything. Yet she could not bring herself to look at his face; she looked intently at the floor between her feet as she began to speak.

"In the year or so we spent together, we became shield mates, companions, and friends. I found a refuge with you - and Saphira - that I have since only found with Firnen. I found someone I could trust, someone who cared for me, someone who respected me, and - I hope you found the same in me." She continued without allowing him to respond to this. "Of course, being able to trust someone with your true name indicates a precious bond indeed, but I only realized exactly how much you meant to me when you were gone, as I told you yesterday. You were the first human friend I have ever had, and you understood me as few have done before.

"Believe me, I regret some of my actions towards you deeply. I was, perhaps, too worried about the war that was to come to consider your emotions. I told myself my rejection of you was harsh, but you would forget me if I made it clear that what you desired was impossible, if you were given enough time. Besides, to me it  _was_ impossible, at the time. You were - somewhat infatuated, if I may say so. I cared for you, I was fond of you, but I saw too many barriers in the way of a relationship of the type you desired."

She smiled a little unsteadily, twisting her fingers together. "And so you went on to break down every one of those barriers. You became my equal in strength and speed. You proved to me that you were capable of containing your emotions, for my sake and for the sake of the war. That night, when the lily was gilded, you proved to me that you were not merely infatuated with my appearance, that you could see the person I was as well. You returned from Vroengard with a wisdom far beyond your years, with a maturity that came from both knowing your name and from the knowledge the Eldunari gave you. And you defeated Galbatorix, ending the war. I had no reason to refuse you, now . . . and I had grown to admire you. Your courage, your kindness, your lack of ambition, your gentleness amid a world of blood . . . your strength amid a world of blood. If you had stayed in Alagaesia, however, I would have made sure to distance myself from you, at least a little, in recognition of the danger of my own budding emotions. You are still too important to the fate of Alagaesia, and if you had stayed, and I had told you this earlier - if we had become mates - your reputation and your efficiency as leader of the Riders would have been irreparably impaired. So I would have stayed away, insofar as I could.

"But you left, and - I missed you." Her voice was now discernibly unsteady. She leaned forward a little more, allowing her hair to hide her face. "I missed you," she repeated more softly, trying not to betray herself more than she had already done. "And your reputation will never be tarnished in Alagaesia, now, since you live here. Therefore . . . I have no reason not to accept you. I have every reason  _to_ accept you."

She paused for a moment and closed her eyes to regain her composure. She sensed a movement, though, from him, and hurried into speech once more.

"However . . . it wouldn't be fair of me to tell you this without warning you."

"Warning me?" His voice was low. Husky, she thought, from emotion.

"Eragon . . . I am not a desirable mate. I don't think - I don't know if you understand that. I am often brusque, often short tempered. I find it hard to allow myself to express my emotions, so that when I do, I tend to burst out. I usually end up shouting, or crying . . . I am not very comfortable with being touched, either, which is somewhat of a requirement, if we are to be mates, yes?"

She peeped at him through the curtain of hair, and saw that he was somewhat red. It made her smile briefly as she looked down and continued.

"Yes. And there are so many other things . . . I am not very patient. I am very likely to tell you what I think and feel bluntly, without sparing your feelings, especially if I am angry. And despite how much I trust you, there may be times when I am unable or unwilling to confide in you. In short, I am not what is generally considered to be ladylike. Neither do I possess the qualities a companionable lover should. I am probably nothing like human women you have known - or any women, for that matter. And elves do not practice marriage; we are polyamorous. All of these things . . . I don't know how happy you would be with me, Eragon. I cannot even tell you that I love you with any certainty. All I can say is that I am willing to be your mate, because the barriers of before are no longer present, and because I care for you deeply, though I cannot say for sure how much. Is that - do you think you could be happy, with someone like that? Like me?"

Candle light glimmered on her fingernails as she interlocked her fingers tightly, waiting for his answer. After a moment or two, he moved closer to her and placed a hand on her knee.

"Arya."

She lowered her head slightly, unwilling to face him.

"Arya, face me."

She heard a tremor in his voice, and so complied, though reluctantly. She felt a sense of gentle shock as she saw that his eyes were filled with tears.

"What -" Her voice trailed away as he gripped her shoulders tightly. Confused, she remained silent, watching his eyes as they scanned her face with increasing intensity. He looked like her was choking on words he couldn't bring himself to say.

The only impression she retained of that moment was of pressure on her shoulders and the sight of his tear-blurred eyes. The next minute, she had been pulled into a fierce embrace. Her forehead thudded against his chest and his arms were tight around her shoulders. She was too startled to protest. When she had recovered some of her composure, at the exact moment she decided to try to pull away, he buried his face in her neck.

That gesture stopped her. It seemed to her to be somehow . . . vulnerable. For an instant she hesitated; then she uncertainly returned the embrace, sensing that he required comfort. He was warm and solid, and she felt an unaccustomed sense of disorientation. No one had ever held her like this, so fervently.

As soon as her arms touched his back, he seemed to melt into her frame. For a heartbeat, they stayed like that. Then he pulled away just enough so that he could see her face.

"You think you need to - to  _warn_ me, Arya? You think you are  _undesirable_? I don't know how - I can't -" The tears were gone now, and his eyes were burning. "If I heard anyone say this about you, I'd run them through with Brisingr. And you say -" He broke off. Again, she had the impression that he was choking on his words.

He lowered his head and took a deep breath, his hands still holding her shoulders. When he looked up, he met her gaze unwaveringly. "Whether you can say that you love me or not is beside the point. The very fact that you are willing to accept me is in itself more than I could have ever hoped for. I don't expect anything from you, Arya. I certainly don't expect you to be anything like any other woman. You are yourself; I love you for that and nothing else."

His voice had no doubt. She could read him, now, and she read only conviction. As she nodded once, in acquiescence, she wondered with a slight sense of awe what it was about her that inspired such devotion. Well . . . if she had to inspire it in someone, she was glad it was him.

"I understand, Eragon."

He held her gaze for a moment more, then leaned back with a sigh, removing his hands from her shoulders. With his eyes closed, he said slowly. "No one can predict that they will live together in happiness with the person they choose for their entire life. All they can do is try . . . and hope." He opened his eyes and looked at her a little shyly. "That is all we can do as well . . . isn't it?"

Her smile was a little shy as well, but her answer was sure. "Yes. And I think we might succeed."

His cheeks went a little red, and he smiled down at his lap. "I hope so."

They were silent for a few minutes before Arya decided it was time to leave. She rose to her feet. "I'll head to bed, then . . . good night, Eragon."

"Good night," he said softly.

She walked out and had just closed the door of the room behind her when she heard a muffled, exultant ' _Yes!'_ and a thump like someone had just jumped. She walked to her room shaking her head, and fell asleep still smiling.


	4. A Farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, chapter title says it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I hope you enjoy! Comments and Kudos are very much appreciated.

 

**†**

They met in the same room for some days afterwards, in the evenings, when they could talk for as long as they wished. During the day, Arya watched him begin to teach his students. She was surprised by how good of a teacher he was. He was firm but gentle, and did his best to instruct them so that they understood as clearly as possible. He always gave the student he was teaching his undivided attention. She enjoyed seeing how much he had matured. If it had been three years ago, she knew he would not have been able to refrain from sneaking glances at her every so often. Now however, he never did so even once - and when he wore what she came to think of as his teaching face, she couldn't read him at all.

She could read him easily in the evenings, though, when he was - well, not exactly as he'd been before, but he was far more relaxed, and he talked to her like a childhood friend. They generally talked late into the night, and about many things. Arya told him of the elaborate politics in Ellesméra, and how she cherished her time flying with Fírnen more than anything else. She told him that Orrin had been married recently, to Lady Julia Hawthorne, and that Murtagh had returned Alagaësia a few months ago, and was residing in Illirea. She told him about the island-country Murtagh had discovered to the south west of Alagaësia, and of the trade that was beginning to flourish between them She told him what she knew of Elva and Angela and Solembum and Jeod, and he drank it all in eagerly.

In return, he told her about how well he knew the elves at the hall now, and how he'd struggled to help them build it; how he and Saphira had crashed into the ocean once and come up sputtering and with stinging eyes; how he'd made fairths of the new land for her to take back; how he was sure that they'd built the Hall on the edge of an existing kingdom but was hesitant to try and make contact; and how he thought class had gone that day, as well as his plans for future classes. At the beginning it was a little awkward between them, but he seemed determined to try to speak with her as before, and she followed his lead until they had cultivated a sense of ease that allowed them a far greater degree of freedom in their speech than they'd ever had before.

One thing she noticed was that he never attempted to touch her, not even to hold her hand or some such. Perhaps he was doing it because of what she'd said, about not being comfortable with being touched. If that was the case she was touched by his thoughtfulness and forbearance, but despite her misgivings she'd actually been rather curious about the more . . . physical side of having a mate or lover. It was something almost completely outside her field of experience.

Besides, she found that she wanted to touch him. They never referred to what had passed between them that night; the only sign that anything had happened was the new warmth in his eyes when he looked at her. But that didn't seem like enough to seal the fact that they were more than shield-mates and close friends. Lovers touch each other casually; a pat on the head, a kiss on the forehead, a careless caress on the cheek. They do it to convey their affection without words, and to give each other constant reassurance that they are, in fact, lovers. That they are trusted and know more about each other than any other. Both of these seemed to her to be desirable things to communicate, particularly the first. Many things can only be powerfully communicated through such touches - comfort, affection, care, tenderness - and she wanted to tell him, and be told, those things. Wasn't that the whole point of having a mate?

Yet she was unsure of herself, and so almost a fortnight passed before there was a change in their routine. She'd been caught up with some work in her room and remained there for long enough that he came to find her. She only realized the time when he knocked on the door.

"Arya?"

Cursing to herself, she hurried to the door and threw it open. "Eragon. Come in . . . I'm sorry, I lost track of time -"

"That's all right," he said, looking down at her with some interest. It only then occurred to her then her hair was untidy and probably looked like a crow's nest, and her clothes were crooked and crumpled. She hastily ran a hand through her hair and tugged the neckline of her tunic up as she stepped aside to allow him to enter.

"Were you working?"

"Yes, I was going through some documents from Nasuada. Would you mind waiting for a few minutes?"

"No, of course not. Uh-"

She looked back at him. "Yes?"

"You have some ink on your nose . . . No, not there. Here." He reached out and carefully wiped it away.

"Thank you." She smiled. "I'll be with you soon."

He nodded and walked towards the balcony. She settled back into her chair and tried to focus on the small, cramped writing on the documents.  _Nasuada really needs to get a better scribe,_ she thought fretfully.  _This writing is making my eyes ache._

She managed to finish the document she had been reading before, then had to pause to allow her eyes to rest. Sighing, she pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. Then she wondered what Eragon might be doing, so she rose and softly walked towards the balcony.

He was sitting crosslegged on the parapet, eyes closed, breathing calm and deep. The moon was waxing, so his skin was faintly silvered. She leaned against the door, crossed her arms, and watched him for a while. For a minute or so she amused herself by trying to recall his human features and superimpose them upon the ones the dragons had given him; then she simply watched him meditate. Before she knew it, she herself had relaxed a little. Some of the tension drained out of her, and she felt the creases in her face fading away. A measure of peace entered her heart.

An abrupt thought came to her - that she would like to give him some thanks for giving her this serenity. It was a rather odd thought, but it nudged her with gentle insistence, refusing to be banished. It caused her to walk up to him, hesitate for a moment, and then carefully wrap her arms around his torso.

The pattern of his breathing changed. "Arya?"

"Mmm." She rested her forehead on the back of his neck, closing her eyes.

He didn't say anything more, but she could hear his heart drumming in his chest even without placing her ear to his back. For a few moments, they remained so. Then she felt a touch on her hand, and her fingers were gently nudged apart to allow his fingers to intertwine with them.

Exhaling softly, she turned her head and laid her cheek against his back, returning the gentle pressure on her fingers, eyes still closed. Eragon's warmth, the sound of his breathing and his heart, and her awareness of his affection for her seemed to fill her up like warm honey, relaxing her muscles and making her thoughts pleasantly languid. It was the most peace she'd felt with anyone apart from Firnen in a long time.

They must have stood there for some time, but it seemed like too soon when he let go of her hands and gently moved her arms away. A little confused - like a child who has been abruptly awoken from a nap - she took a step back as he turned around, got to his feet, and leaned back against the parapet. His cheeks were a little pink, and he seemed to have some trouble meeting her eyes.

Those were background observations, however. Her thoughts were still slow, and the uppermost thing in her mind was regaining the sense of warmth and comfort from before. So it seemed like a natural thing to step forward and hug him again.

He returned the embrace carefully; too carefully for her liking. She moved back a little and looked up at him. "You're worried about something," she said softly. "You're too nervous."

He looked at her shoulder, avoiding her gaze. "Well, yes . . . I've grown accustomed to the idea that you don't want to be as . . . close as I do, and you told me yourself that you're not all that comfortable with being touched. What you just did - it rather threw me off balance, and I don't know what to - how to - I mean, what boundaries -"

"Eragon." He looked at her reluctantly. "If you do something I do not wish for, I will stop you. I will tell you. Please don't worry about this . . . and don't imagine that I'll run you through if you so much as hold my hand. I'd like you to feel free with me, not constrained."

He nodded, but looked away again. She sighed softly and looked at his expression, considering what to do. Then she reached up and lightly kissed him on the cheek.

His eyes flew to hers, startled. She smiled a little. "Do you hear me, Eragon?"

"I hear you."

She tilted her head. "So?"

He looked at her fixedly for a few moments. Then the arm around her waist tightened, pulling her in closer so they were chest to chest. Her smile broadened with satisfaction, and she met the uncertainty in his eyes with warmth in her own.

She could see that he was a little less unsure as he pulled in her head to fit underneath his chin. She turned her head, listening to the pound of the pulse in his throat. As his warmth began to surround her and sink into her skin, she felt the sense of serenity from before return, and closed her eyes, content.

Gradually, the tension in the set of his shoulders lessened. His thumb began to skim absentmindedly across the side of her neck, under her ear, and he moved his head lower, laying his mouth against her temple. She tilted her head slightly, liking the caress.

She felt the muscles in his cheek shift as he smiled. His thumb trailed across her jaw and onto her cheek. She moved back a little, eyes still closed, so that he could move his hand freely. He gently touched the features of her face like a blind man trying to recognise someone, moving from cheek to lips to eye to eyebrow and back again, ending by holding her chin lightly with thumb and forefinger

For a moment, they both were still. Then he gently pushed her chin up, lowered his face, and met her lips with his own.

Her eyes flew open in surprise, and her heart was suddenly beating far faster than before. There was an abrupt tug in her stomach that she only felt when Firnen went into a dive.

The kiss only lasted for three seconds or so. He pulled away and looked at her, scanning her face a little anxiously. She was still startled; she'd not expected him to do that at all. She met his eyes blankly, lips parting as she sought for words.

"You took me by surprise," she said finally.

The hand at her waist, which had clenched into a fist, relaxed. "So you don't - didn't - mind . . .?"

Her heart was still beating faster than normal, she noted curiously. Was this how all kisses affected a person?

"No, I didn't mind," she said softly.

He exhaled, relieved. Then tilted his head, looking at her curiously. "Have you gone red?"

She made a sound that was half laugh and half sigh. "I generally don't. Have I now?"

"Mmm. Looks like it." He kissed her cheek, paused, then kissed her lips again, slightly longer this time. She was prepared for it now, though,and was able to pay attention to the actual sensation, rather than her reaction to it. The tug in her stomach was less startling, though her heart sped up again. When they broke apart, she was a little breathless.

"Huh," she murmured. "I don't see what all the fuss is about."

He looked at her inquiringly, lips still slightly parted.

"About kissing. It's not a particularly extraordinary sensation."

He laughed at that. "But it's pleasant enough?"

She smiled. "Yes, it's pleasant enough."

He lifted her chin again, looking at her face. "You've very definitely gone red."

She looked down, a little embarrassed. "Oh, be quiet. You have too." She stepped away, gently pushing his arms away. "I'll finish reading those documents and be back."

He let go somewhat reluctantly, then sat on the parapet with a little jump and leaned back, grinning at her happily. "I'll be right here."

†

They never went much further than kisses, though Arya remained at the Hall for two months. Eragon was content enough with what they had. They both of them had an eternity to spend together; there was time enough to do what they wished. And he wanted to savour his new relationship with her as much as possible.

They spent as much time as they could together, and Arya told him that she had grown to wonder that she was able to trust and be trusted so by a living being apart from Firnen. They learned many things about each other that they had never known before, and everyday seemed to bring a brighter joy and content into his life. And he hated to think that she would have to leave him behind once more. But he knew she would, as did she, and they both accepted it, insofar as they could.

In the meantime, the Riders were shaping up well. Each of them had their own unique personality and fighting style.

Ravûn was working extremely hard, training nearly every minute of the day; pounding away with his weapons like he had something to prove, like he had to be the best he could to show his clan he was meant to be a Rider. His height was a disadvantage, but he never let that stop him; that bubbly exterior hid a core of steel. He was usually exhausted by evening, but in the mornings he was bright and excited, full of chatter. Even after training, he always had a kind word and a smile for everyone. He was surprisingly good at controlling his mind.

Osra was normally calm and patient, but a dangerous fighter when she had to be, or when she was angered. She had nearly managed to beat Këyal once, when he'd annoyed her once too often. Her height, power, and the society she came from gave her an edge over Zelíe and Ravûn. But she was slowed down by her bulk, and was still unable to handle a bow well, though she practised whenever she could. Her mind was calm and orderly, and she quickly got the hang of mind-duelling, becoming able to resist most of Eragon's attacks in a few weeks.

Zelíe was very dedicated, almost more dedicated than Ravûn. She never talked about her background. She had no idea how to handle any weapons at all; Eragon suspected she came from one of Belatona's rich families. But she trained intensely, struggling to hone her skills, including controlling her mind. She had strong emotions and could rarely control them. She was improving, though, slowly but steadily.

Këyal, of course, did nothing to help. Eragon had been right in thinking that he would cause trouble. He treated all three of his fellow students with polite disdain. He held himself aloof from them and trained alone. When Eragon asked his students to spar with a partner, he shrugged as though he could care less and waited for his partner to approach him. The other three had actually worked out a lots system which they used before each class to decide who would spar with him. The unlucky one would do their best, but usually be disarmed within five seconds flat and be faced by the elf's sneer. Osra had had to physically restrain Zelíe from flying at him more than once. He only acted really insolent when Eragon wasn't around, though, and Eragon wasn't quite sure how to handle the situation because Këyal was an exemplary student. He was perfect at everything he knew how to to, and what he didn't know he learnt fast.

Two months flew by, and it was time for Arya to leave. It was a bright, crystal morning, the air shimmering with a hint of rain. Fírnen was in the process of tapping snouts with the four younger dragons. Eragon's heart twisted painfully as he watched Arya say her goodbyes to everyone who lived at the castle. He wished that she didn't have to leave him. That she never would.

Ah, perhaps one day, when she was no longer queen and was free to live with him here, at the Hall. That was the most he could hope for . . .

She turned to him last and smiled, like she had smiled after the first time she'd kissed him on the cheek. "I'll visit when I can," she said softly.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. She took his head in her hands and kissed him on the brow. "Be well, Eragon."

"And you . . . Arya. May the stars watch over you."

Her hand gripped his shoulder tightly for a moment, then relaxed. She took a step away, made a short, formal bow, which he returned, and then walked to Fírnen. As he watched her tighten the saddle's straps, the lump in his throat grew so large he thought he would choke on it. The selfish, childish part of him wanted to scream to her to stay. But that would not be fair to her, and it would make this parting harder for the both of them. So he stayed silent.

Arya leapt up Fírnen's leg lightly and settled into the saddle. She looked back once more, meeting Eragon's eyes for the last time.

_I'll miss you, Eragon. I -_

Fírnen's wings swept up, blocking her from his vision. But Eragon could still hear her.

_I love you!_

It was an urgent, impulsive thought, and it rang with truth. Hs heart clenched painfully - whether with joy or sorrow, he knew not - as the green wings swept down and Firnen and Arya ascended.

 _I love you too_ , he whispered.

But the comfort of her statement alloyed his pain a little, and he finally managed to smile in farewell as they vanished into the heavens.

†


	5. A Break In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two unexpected arrivals turn up in the last place they should be, and dragons eggs hatch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! Criticism and comments are very welcome.

 

†

A year had rolled by, and Eragon had passed his twenty-second birthday a month earlier. He hadn't celebrated it or told anyone about it; for as he said to Saphira,  _My getting older is not a miracle, and it is more important for my students to concentrate on their studies._

At present, he was spending the evening sparring with Osra in the huge training room, teaching her to block faster. She  _was_  trying, but she simply could not overcome the disadvantage of her bulk. He spun to the right and struck, not taking advantage of the opening she had left in her defenses, which gave her time to lift her sword to block him. They held the position for a moment, then disengaged.

"Osra, you have to try harder. We have been working on this single issue for nigh on a week now." He was not harsh, only quietly stern.

She cast her eyes downwards. He knew she hated her insufficiency, but he still had to press her. "I apologise, Master." Her voice was layered with embarrassment and irritation, and she sounded as rough as the storm that howled outside. "I will do better."

He opened his mouth to reply encouragingly, but the words were choked in his throat as a ward flared to life in the back of his mind. At the same instant, Umaroth spoke with panic,  _Eragon, get to the Dragon Room NOW! There are two intruders examining the eggs and I know not where Cuaroc is!_

Eragon was still for a fraction of a second, immobilized by shock. Then Saphira roared in fury, and he leapt into motion, leaving the room as fast as his elven speed could take him, Brisingr still in hand. He just barely heard a faint, "Master, what-?" from Zelíe before the rush of wind in his ears blocked out everything else. He quickly contacted the elves, but only Ayana, Talía and Blödhgarm were close enough to the Room to get there with him. Not for the first time, he cursed the sheer size of the Hall.

A huge thunderclap sounded, startling him, yet providing adrenaline that helped him run even faster.

 _We have to have a faster way to travel through the Hall,_  he thought. The thought was secondary, though. Even as he sprinted through the Garden, he could not bring himself to believe that someone had actually broken into the Dragon Room. It was protected by the most secure spells possible to devise; only someone with permission from him, the elves, Saphira or one of the Eldunarí could possibly enter. How could the intruders know of the Eldunarí, the most closely-guarded secret of the dragons? How could they know the precise location of the button and the trapdoor? What had happened to Cuaroc?

He hastily removed the spell that blocked Brisingr's edge, even as he ran.

 _Maybe they think the eggs are jewels._ Saphira's mind-voice was colored with shock, anger, and frustration at the fact that she wouldn't be able to enter the Dragon Room.

Eragon bared his teeth and willed his legs to move even faster. If anything had happened to the eggs . . .

But again, how had the intruders even known about the Room?

He skidded to a stop in front of the wall and slammed his fist into the knob of quartz. Before the panel had even slid halfway upwards he ducked into the antechamber, barking out, "Ladrín!" The floor glowed in a square and the trapdoor swung open. He leapt down the stairs, hearing the sound of light, urgent footsteps above him; reinforcements had arrived.

As he jumped down the last five steps with the words of the opening phrase on his lips, the elves gathered behind him. Talía gripped his upper arm, murmuring, "Caution, Argetlam. Those who could enter here must surely have some great power. We should enter quietly, so we can take them by surprise."

He gave a short nod, and they all linked their minds together so as to be stronger in case of a mental attack. As Eragon laid a hand on a door, he paused. He thought he had heard- but no, it could not be.

Yet, there it was again; the sound of . . . a  _child_  in the Dragon Room?

Blödhgarm cocked his head, ears swiveling forward as he listened to a boy's voice saying, " _Get up, Senshi! We have to leave! Can you walk?"_ in . . . the  _ancient language?_

 _How is this possible?_  Saphira exclaimed.  _How has a child broken into the Room? Why, even Galbatorix would have struggled to break the enchantments protecting it!_

 _Two children, it seems,_ Eragon replied, as a shaky female voice replied, " _I can stand . . ."_ Then, " _My lady?"_ The voice was panicked and uncertain.

He silently opened the door, and beheld two dark-haired, copper-skinned children on the far side of the Room. Cuaroc was a silent statue by the brazier, which was burning low. A girl was just getting up, supported by the boy kneeling next to her. A purple hatchling lay on the floor by the girl, purple, jewel- like shards of eggshell littered the floor, and the boy held a gold egg in one hand.

Eragon's mouth hung open for a moment. Then he pushed his astonishment aside; for now, he had to focus on discovering whether these children were a threat and how they had discovered the Room. The four of them stepped forward as quietly as they could, but they must have made some tiny noise, for the boy whipped around, staring at them with luminous gold eyes. He hissed a warning to the girl, who quickly stood up. As the quartet swiftly advanced into the cavernous Room, the boy tucked the gold egg under his arm and muttered something to the girl, who shook her head vigorously, fear distorting her features. The boy snapped at her, and she reluctantly picked up the hatchling, first seeming terrified, then relieved.

_She had expected a shock upon touching the dragon - like me, when Saphira hatched._

The girl murmured to the boy, and he shook his head. She glared at him. Her next words were loud enough for Eragon to hear, albeit faintly,  _"We have no choice! She has abandoned us, and we're trapped. We can only attempt to escape."_

It was now the turn of the boy to acquiesce. He nodded sharply and gripped her hand. The two waited until Eragon and the elves had passed the brazier, then separated and ran along the walls of the room, aiming for the huge, gilded doors. A futile attempt; they would be caught before they managed to cover half the distance. Blödhgarm and Eragon headed off to intercept the girl, while Ayana and Talía went for the boy. As the girl saw them approaching, she increased her speed, almost falling on the smooth, stone floor. Eragon saw that she was wet through and barefoot. Another step and she did fall, hitting her head on the floor with a sickening  _crack_. Eragon winced in sympathy. Surprisingly, the girl did not seem much hurt, only disoriented, and managed to stagger to her feet. Seeing them so close seemed to drive her confusion away. She gave a small gasp and pressed herself against the wall, pawing at a sheath with one hand, hugging the hatchling closer to her chest. She managed to draw her dagger and raised it, ready to fight. As soon as she held it, she stopped trembling quite so much; she seemed to derive comfort from the touch of a familiar weapon. Her arm remained perfectly steady, betraying that she had been in fights countless times before. Her eyes darted behind them at intervals, watching the boy evade the female elves. Eragon did not turn around, but he could hear the boy's heavy breathing as he sought to escape and the thoughts of the elves as they tried to intercept him.

Blödhgarm shifted slightly, and her eyes immediately flashed to his face, watching him warily.

Eragon wasn't quite sure what to do; this girl was obviously no threat, or she wouldn't have run. She had entered the Room with no knowledge of magic, and yet she spoke in the ancient language. She had no idea of what a dragon was, but one had still hatched for her! She was an enigma. But was she destined to be a Rider?

Whether she was or not, the fact remained that a dragon had hatched when she had touched the egg. Eragon had to speak with her. For that, he needed to make her trust him, to reassure her that he was no threat. But before he could say a word, he heard a soft  _tap-tap-tap_  from the other side of the Room. He whirled around, staring in disbelief as the gold egg started to hatch. Everyone stood still and watched as a small gold snout poked outside the egg. The boy looked astounded. After a moment, he touched it tentatively-

-and fell screaming to the floor as the terrible, ice-fire sensation rushed through him. Ayana quickly caught the egg as it fell, then knelt by the boy.

'Kitai!' the girl screamed, causing Eragon to start and face her. A single tear trickled down her cheek, her thin veneer of bravery shattered. Her horrified gaze took in the sight of the boy shuddering on the floor, and suddenly she seemed willing to attempt anything, take any risk. She feinted forward, causing Eragon and Blödhgarm to reflexively raise their blades

" _Stay away from me!"_ she hissed.  _"What is this . . . thing?"_ She held the dragon up like it was diseased.  _"Answer me, or it dies!"_ She touched her dagger-tip to its throat.

Blödhgarm hissed savagely. She twisted the point of the blade, causing the hatchling to mewl fretfully. Tears fell from her amber eyes like the rain outside.

Eragon could not believe she would actually kill her dragon, but she looked as though she would. Clearly, she had to be reassured. He sheathed Brisingr, motioned for Blödhgarm to do the same, and raised his hands in a placating gesture.

" _Don't hurt it."_ He spoke in the ancient language, like her.  _"It will not harm you, and neither will we."_

Her eyes widened.

" _We will not harm you,"_ he repeated.  _"Please don't be frightened. My name is Eragon."_

She cradled the dragon against her chest once more, seeming to relax slightly _. " . . . Eragon."_ She said the name cautiously, stumbling over the unfamiliar syllables.  _"Eragon, will this hurt me?"_ She nodded to the dragon, eyes now pleading.

" _Not by intent. It is a child; it knows not what it does."_

" _I felt something . . . in my mind . . ."_ She shuddered.

" _It was hungry, was it not?"_

She blinked.  _"Hungry before. Frightened later. And - it gave me this."_ She slowly sheathed her dagger, giving them several furtive glances, and then tilted her palm outward. The dim light glinted off of her newly formed gedwëy ignasia.

Eragon extended his own right palm. Her eyes darted to his face in surprise.  _"You have one as well?"_

" _Yes, but she is rather larger than yours."_ He smiled.

She gave him a slight, involuntary smile in response, which banished her hunted look and revealed that her wild features had a certain air of prettiness about them. Her black, tightly braided hair was beginning to look frizzy as it dried. Her amber eyes were large in her dark face, and her voice was surprisingly musical. She wore a rough dress, worn by days of travel. Eragon realized that she must be one of the people who lived in the forests to the north. But how on earth had she learnt the ancient language?

 _If it comes to that,_ said Saphira, startling him,  _how did she get in? And how did she pick the exact egg to hatch for her?_

 _Those are questions that will have to wait for later_ , he replied _. Right now, she and the boy need to be taken care of._

_So we're taking her in?_

_Do we have a choice? We can at least feed her and give her a bed for the night, if she requires one._

" _I can answer any questions you may have,"_ he told the girl, " _but this is neither the time nor the place. At present, we need to get you into some dry clothes. Are you hungry?"_

She cocked her head, evidently not expecting this, then gave a short nod.

" _Good,"_ he said briskly _. "We will get you some food. However, I do, need to ask you one thing . . . "_

She was listening intently, her bright eyes never leaving his face.

" _What is your name?"_

She blinked, surprised.  _"My name is . . . Senshi."_ She wasn't hugging the wall anymore.

He laid a gentle hand on her back, starting to propel her forward. She shied away, reaching for her dagger instinctively.

Eragon sighed softly and knelt, staring directly into her eyes.

" _Senshi, are you afraid me?"_

She hesitated, then blurted out,  _"A - a little."_

" _I am your friend, and I swear never to knowingly harm you in any way. I wish only to help you; and I think I will become your teacher as well, ere long. I ask only that you trust me in return - at least a little. Can you do that for me?"_ As he spoke, he possessed himself of her cold hand and pressed it lightly.

She met his kind gaze unwaveringly for a few long moments, her face unreadable: then she nodded, a sharp, decisive movement, and said quietly,  _"Yes."_

Eragon was surprised at how satisfied that single word made him feel. He smiled warmly and stood, letting go of her hand.  _"How about we get you and your dragon that food, then?"_

" _My what?"_ She looked bewildered.

He nodded to the hatchling, which was nibbling at her fingers.  _"It is called a dragon."_

" _Oh."_

" _Come."_ She followed him and Blodhgarm as they approached the others.

A rich chuckle from the boy, made loud by reverberating echoes, reached them, and Eragon perceived that Senshi's step grew quicker and her attitude more relaxed. She obviously had strong feelings for the boy. He was probably her brother; there was a marked resemblance between the two.

The boy was tall and well-muscled, perhaps about fifteen years old. His features were honed to sharpness, his face lean. He wore only a loincloth wrapped around his hips. His chest bore a few long scars, marks of accidents or fights lost. A dagger hung in its sheath from a cord slung about his waist. He shared his thick, dark hair with his sister, as well as his eyes and complexion. He moved with a kind of coiled alertness, as though the energy in his spare frame could barely be contained. In fact, he rather reminded Eragon of Blodhgarm; someone who would not seek out conflict, but if it became necessary, would fight with savage enjoyment.

The boy's eyes flickered from Eragon to Blödhgarm as he tried to decide whether they were threats or not, and his hand drifted to the hilt of his dagger. Senshi spoke a few soft words, and he relaxed.

The two small groups had reached each other by now. Ayana sang out, " _We have convinced Kitai that we are no threat, but he requires some further proof in the form of a meal_."

Eragon grinned in response. " _You are Senshi's brother?"_  he asked the boy.

" _We are twins."_

" _And your name is Kitai?"_

" _Yes."_

 _I am right outside the panel,_  Saphira said suddenly.  _Hurry up, would you?_

_We're on our way._

In another five minutes, the six of them had emerged from the trapdoor. As Eragon caused the panel to open, he wondered how the two would react to Saphira.

The panel slid up silently to reveal her huge, gleaming cerulean eye. Kitai instinctively jerked backwards, hissing. He yanked his dagger from its sheath, tightening his grip on the hatchling in his other arm, and tried to drag his sister back with him. She stumbled back with him, yelping softly in shock. They both stood staring at Saphira as the elves walked past them. Talía offered them both a small smile, and motioned them forward encouragingly with a jerk of her head.

The hatchlings both mewled together then, complainingly. Saphira pushed her head further into the room, sniffing curiously. The twins stood stock-still as she came closer and closer, their chests rising and falling rapidly. The hatchlings continued to mewl, their tiny mouths wide open, rows of sharp teeth gleaming. The purple one spread its wings and flapped them fretfully. Senshi glanced from them to Saphira, and then, with her hands trembling, slowly bent and placed her dragon on the floor. Kitai's eyes followed her, and after a moment or two of uncertainty he decided to follow suit. The hatchlings stumbled forward, and the golden one fell against Saphira's muzzle. She snorted softly, and then the sound of her pleased humming filled the room, reverberating from the stone walls. She gently licked them both, the tip of her tongue flicking across their scales.

Kitai quickly scanned Saphira's features, and looked to Eragon and the elves. He seemed a little reassured by the fact that they were not discomposed at all. Senshi, on the other hand, focused entirely on Saphira, reading her movements intently, watching as the purple hatchling tried to nibble at her scales, and watching as Saphira carefully nudged it away.

"Eragon," she called hesitantly, as softly as she could, at the same time that Kitai muttered, "Ayana?"

Eragon grinned. " _She won't eat you, young ones. Greet her, and walk right by."_

Saphira focused on them, and they glanced at each other nervously. Senshi was the first to move. She clasped her left shoulder with her right hand, her forearm crossed across her chest, and bowed formally from the waist. " _It is an honour to meet you,_ " she said, her voice trembling slightly. She then glanced over her shoulder, giving Kitai a furious look, and he hastily imitated her.

Saphira gazed at them, taking them in for a moment or two. Then she swung her head around to face them. Senshi clenched her fists, and Kitai gulped, muscles rigid.

Saphira breathed out, a puff of blistering air. They both closed their eyes tightly, and Eragon thought he heard a squeak from one of them. Saphira's hum grew louder, more amused, and she touched her nose to their foreheads.

As she moved away, the siblings looked like they were about to faint with relief. Eragon smiled and gestured to the hatchlings.

" _Pick them up, and let's go. We have much to talk about."_

They did as he said, casting frequent glances at Saphira as she pulled her head out. Eragon went to stand by her, laying a hand on her neck. He noted an unusual undercurrent of tenderness from her at the sight of the hatchlings, but he knew she didn't want him to comment on it. Instead he asked,  _So . . . are we going to train them, then?_

_. . . I don't know. We will explain the Riders to them, of course, but after that . . . We need to learn more about them, their circumstances. They might have homes to return to, a family that worries about them, in which case they can't come to Alagaësia. So we will have no need to train them. Unless whoever rules this kingdom likes the idea of Dragon Riders . . ._

_Too many unknowns. We need to talk to them-_

_-and see what they want and where they come from-_

_-and the decision will be ultimately-_

_-up to them._ Her humming grew softer.  _Exactly._

 _It's a shame, though . . ._ Eragon glanced back at them.  _We need Riders._

_They might well decide to stay. Keep your hopes up._

Eragon acknowledged her, and she went back to the Tower, where she had left her students.

Blodhgarm and Talía took their leave then; they had been in the process of restoring the last of the enslaved Eldunarí to sanity, and the task was rather urgent. So Ayana and Eragon accompanied Senshi and Kitai down to the light, airy kitchen, fed the hatchlings with handfuls of meat, the twins with an assortment of savoury pies, took them to an empty room, and gave them dry clothes. Ten minutes later, they were fast asleep, their dragons curled up near their feet.

". . . so that's what happened," Eragon concluded. "Afterwards, I spoke with the Eldunarya to see if they might have any ideas about how this occurred, and Valdr said he had granted them permission. When I asked him why, he only said, "Dellanir has ever been a great friend of mine." I suppose that means that Dellanir asked him to allow the twins into the Dragon Room, though how she contacted Valdr when she's been missing for the past five centuries, why she would go to this much trouble, and how she knew the children were potential Riders is more than I can fathom."

Nasuda frowned. "Dellanir. The ruler of the elves before Evandar?"

"Yes."

"And she is alive . . ." Her eyes shifted away as she mused upon this new development. Eragon waited in silence, glad to have an excuse to stop talking; his throat was dry from repeating the story to Arya, Orrin, Orik, and Nar Garzhvog.

He returned to himself to hear Nasuada saying, "Never mind. That is a problem that will keep for later. You certainly haven't been bored at the Hall, have you?"

He smiled "No, I haven't. Training the children is a surprisingly rewarding experience. And now that we're almost finished with the Eldunayaí-"

A man's voice called out on Nasuada's side, his voice slightly muffled. "Nasuada, are you in here?" The handle of the door in Nasuada's conference room began to move.

The queen quickly called back, "I'm speaking with Eragon!" The handle froze.

"Eragon, thank you for the update. My apologies, but I will speak to you later. At present I have some matters to attend to. Goodbye, and keep well." She rose.

"But, Nasuada-"

The mirror went blank, showing only the Head Rider only his own bemused face.

†

She turned, extending a welcoming hand. "You can come in now."

A tall, handsome man with dark hair entered. A gold circlet glittering on his brow lent him an air of dignity. He enfolded Nasuada in a warm embrace, giving her an easy kiss. She smiled and drew back to see his face.

"Did he find out?" the man asked.

"No, but it was close."

"I still don't see why we're keeping it a secret. The whole of Alagaësia knows. He's bound to find out from someone."

"He won't. I want to surprise him. We are to accompany Arya with the next batch of eggs, are we not? He shall know then."

"That's in two years! Nasuada-"

She placed a finger on his lips. "Consider it a whim of mine. Did you not say once that you would die rather than leaving a wish of mine unfulfilled?"

"I was drunk then," he muttered, turning his head so her hand covered his stubbled cheek.

"Oh, so it no longer applies?"

His face softened. "Of course it does." He brushed the inside of her palm with his lips.

She stepped forward, and they stood with their foreheads together and arms intertwined, each supporting the other. "By the way, I have a surprise for you," she said softly. He raised an eyebrow.

She stood on tiptoe and whispered. His eyes widened in shock and he looked down at her, dumbstruck.

"You . . . you're . . . you're going to have . . . there's going to be -"

"An heir," she completed. "An heir to the throne of Alagaësia."

†

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the melodramatic ending, but I couldn't resist that cliffhanger. Though I suppose it isn't much of a cliffhanger, it it quite obvious who the man is, isn't it?


	6. About The New Arrivals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear, the Hall is situated half a day south of Aroughs and five days east of the Az Ragni (on dragonback). It consists of a huge cylinder (which is the Tower, like twenty stories tall) with the entrance towards the west, towards Alagaësia. Two straight wings project out, to the north and south, in a straight line. Thus it is like an E, without the top and bottom bars. I hope thatmakes things a bit clearer.

 

†

Ravûn woke up slowly and comfortably, stretched, yawned, and rolled upright, nearly bumping his head on the low, rocky ceiling. Across the room, in the high-ceilinged chamber he'd created specially for her, lay Drëya. A black eyelid drifted upward, and one onyx eye focused on him blearily. Ravûn smiled and greeted her mentally. She did not reply, only blinked lazily and resumed her slumber. Ravûn understood why she felt so lethargic; today was the seventh day of the week. There would be no training today, and they could do as they pleased. They could read in the vast library, or spend time in the sprawling gardens, or ride the winds with their dragons, or even meet with Eragon and talk to him about any problems or doubts they might have. In their first year, they'd spent this day listening to Eragon describe his journey and transformation from a farm boy to a hero. Not that he'd ever been conceited about it, Ravûn mused, as he pulled on a tunic and belted it. He'd simply been trying to teach them, to warn them not to make his mistakes . . .

Anyway, today they could also practise their magic or improve their skill with weapons, if they so wished; but none of them ever did. Their training schedule was so exhausting as it was that they all looked forward to the last day of the week. They were to live here for several years anyhow. Surely that was enough to learn all they needed to?

Eragon had offered them a break in the next six months, when they could visit home and their families; but while Ravûn appreciated the thought, he doubted he would go home. None of the others were keen on the idea anyway, and in his case, his clan had practically exiled him, and his family hated him. He'd probably ask Eragon if he could stay at the Hall, even if the others did go . . .

Drëya let out a small puff of smoke in her sleep as her Rider's gloomy thoughts washed over her. He hastily withdrew so she could only feel the general mood of his thoughts and tried to take his mind off of home. He thought instead about his room. It had been kind of Eragon to allow him to shift to a new one; the old one had been horrible, large and airy with huge windows. He snorted as he slid on his boots. It was an elf's idea of pleasant, not his. So he'd asked for, and received, permission to move to a room nearer the heart of the Hall. And with Eragon's new decorating scheme the Hall had, in his opinion, begun to feel more like home.

He walked through the door, being careful not to let the clicking of his boots on stone wake Drëya. He let the door swing silently shut, then debated about where to go. It was very early; no one was awake yet. He decided to go to the library, with a detour through the garden. It would take him longer, but it wasn't as though he had much else to do.

As he walked, he resumed his train of thought. A small smiled lifted his mouth as he wondered if any of the previous Riders had judged their students' work by their interior decorating skills.

Eragon had had the brilliant idea of letting them design and modify their rooms however they wanted - with magic, of course - and then judging them on the results. Literally  _however_ they wanted. Këyal's room, for example, was an artistic, aesthetically pleasing forest with beautiful flowers and fruits and furniture grown from the floor of walls and an honest-to-Kílf  _stream_ splashing through it.

Blast Këyal.

Ravûn hadn't done too bad a job on his room, though, if he did say so himself. The walls were made of bands of different kinds of rocks with special properties; one wall was composed entirely of rocks that conducted heat while another was made of every possible kind and color of translucent crystal. His room was rather claustrophobic for anyone else, the ceiling being so low, but he'd been tired of staring up at ceilings that were more than ten times his height.

He'd started decorating the walls with jewels, but it was a slow process, they weren't exactly easy to come by-

Just then, he heard a soft voice singing a beautiful, wistful melody, and the thought was forgotten. On a whim, he followed the sound through the wide passages, barely noticing that his pace was getting faster and faster, and ended up in front of a wooden door that was slightly ajar.

He eased it open a little more. Senshi was not facing him - she was looking out of the window, watching the sun rise. She sang effortlessly, simply, yet enchantingly. The melody was saturated with anguish and nostalgia; Ravûn could feel tears begin to prick his eyelids. He listened quietly for a time, allowing the song to wash over him, then left before she could see him.

As he closed the door, he mused on how unexpected people were, and how little he actually knew about his fellow students' lives outside the Hall. He knew that Zelíe was from Belatona, and that Osra's uncle was Nar Garzhvog, and that Këyal's brother was an ambassador between the races, and that the twins used to live in the kingdom of the forest. Nothing else. What if Zelíe could dance or Osra could paint? They hadn't really spent much time talking to each other, though they'd been living together for over two years now. Training took up so much time . . .

Ravûn resolved to change that.

But why, he wondered as he set off down the passage, did he care so much? Did it really matter? The purpose of being here was to become the best Rider they could be, surely?

_I suppose it matters to me because . . . I like to know people, to be able to depend on them and to support them. Helzvog knows I have not had a life that allowed these things . . ._

Before he could stop it, a tide of memories rolled in; Vermûnd screaming in rage, lunging at him with a dagger; his father shouting at him with murderous fury; his mother weeping silently in a corner; his brothers acting as though he didn't exist-

_Little one . . ._

_Yes, I know I promised, Drëya. I'm sorry for waking you. Did you sleep well?_

She did not answer, only sent him a warm wave of comfort.

The pained grimace on his face eased, and he slowly continued on to the library, at one with his dragon.

†

Senshi finished the song and raised a hand to wipe her cheeks dry. Her father had taught her that song before he'd died. It had been so long . . .

_Senshi . . . Concentrate upon the song, upon the memories you have of him. Do not do this to yourself once more._

_I . . . I will try, Ikraan. Thank you._ She turned to him, patting his scaly snout.

He nudged her.  _You sang beautifully._

 _Thank you._ She hugged his neck tightly.  _I don't know what I would do without you._

He snorted.  _Neither do I._

They sat quietly together for some time, Ikraan watching as Senshi sorted through her memories of home. It was an exercise that pained and comforted her in equal measure - she was homesick, and remembering everything she had left behind was in itself enough to bring her to tears sometimes, as it had today, but those memories were themselves a comfort in her new home, where the food was different, the clothes were different, the language she had to learn to speak was different . . . and she no longer had her brother by her side.

 _I'm sure he feels as lonely as you, Senshi,_ Ikraan said quietly.  _You should talk to him more. He could help -_

She snorted.  _Do you think_ my  _brother would have_ any  _idea of how to help me?_

_Don't give in to pique. I know you don't hate him that much._

She rubbed her forehead wearily.  _He is my brother. I don't hate him, I'm just frustrated. He's always been a self centered person. He never takes the time to find out if other people have problems or need help. If it were pointed out to him, he might feel slightly guilty and make a halfhearted attempt to help, but that's the most he would do. And lately he's been completely obsessed with that stuck up-_

_Senshi . . ._

_Well, she is! Flipping her gold hair all over the place. I swear her head will snap off one day. But of course they're just_ made  _for each other._

_You have to admit she's a good warrior, though. And she does not make excuses if something is her fault or if she makes a mistake. She is honest, and brave, and determined, and kind in her own way. I feel, as Palé does, that it is a way your brother understands. She will make of him a better person._

She sniffed.  _I suppose she might. But she is certainly nowhere near that wonderful._

_You just hate her because your brother loves her-_

_He does not love her! He's never been in love in his life!_

_-which means he's neglecting you. You're lonely._

She stopped short. They were both silent for a few moment before she brought herself to say,  _He was all I had. Since papa died. You know what my mother was like . . . And then we were sent here, and we learned about the Riders, and we had nothing left at home, so we thought we might as well stay and learn. And I thought - I thought it would be like before. But Kit-_

_Senshi, you expected him to stick to you like before, when neither of you had anyone else. But don't you see how unreasonable that it when there are people of his own age he can talk to?_

She hugged his neck again. "Who cares about him," she mumbled. "I have you, and that's all I need."

He snorted softly.  _That is not all you need, and you know it. You should really talk to the others. You've been here what, more than a year now?_

A muffled groan was the only response she gave him. He continued undeterred.  _Osra is rather like you, except that she isn't quite so . . .volatile -_

_Volatile?!_

_-and Ravûn is always friendly with everyone, unlike his dragon._ Ikraan's snout creased ever so slightly.

_Ravûn is not friendly with the elf._

_No, not Këyal,_ he agreed.  _But you have nearly two years to go before the next Riders come, and if you want to spend all that time in a shell-_

_Argh. I hear you, I hear you. I'll . . . I'll talk to Ravûn today._

He sent her a pulse of approval.  _You won't regret it._

Senshi sighed. He rose then, forcing her to do the same, and they both proceeded to the dining hall for breakfast.

†

Approximately ten minutes later, everyone living at the Hall was seated around the huge table (grown from the floor of intertwined saplings), enjoying their breakfast. As Ikraan ripped a juicy mouthful from the haunch of a buck, Eragon asked, "What do you all plan to do today?"

Senshi looked up from her food at that. "I thought you were going to continue your narration today, Master?" she asked softly.

Most of the people at the table looked up, startled. Senshi almost never spoke at mealtimes.

Eragon seemed glad to see his quietest student a part of the conversation. He gave her a warm smile, unaware of the sudden butterflies he'd set ricocheting around her stomach. "I was going to continue my narration, but the older students have already heard it before, and I have a strong feeling that your brother is not particularly interested," Eragon said, glancing down the table, where Kitai was only aware of the golden-haired girl next to him.

"Oh, of course, if you don't want to . . ." she said hastily. "Only it was at the most interesting part."

At this, Eragon laughed out loud. "Senshi, you think all of the parts are the most interesting."

From the other side of the room, Ikraan raised his head from his meal to stare fixedly at his Rider.

Palé sent him an inquiring thought. The two were practically brothers, having hatched almost simultaneously for siblings, and they were the only male dragons at the Hall.

Ikraan replied without moving.  _It's happening again._

Palé snorted softly.  _You worry too much, Ikraan. She is young, only five-and-ten summers old. She will grow, she will learn. Leave it._

_It is not proper to have feelings for one's teacher._

The other dragons had noticed that something was amiss by now, but feeling that if the younglings wanted to share their conversation they would, they returned to their respective breakfasts.

Well, most of them.

 _What is the secret, boys?_  Layla asked, entering into the role of wise elder sister.

Ikraan hesitated, but Palé did not. He'd always been the more impulsive.  _And besides, Layla probably won't say anything. She might seem like an airhead, but she certainly isn't._ Ikran ruefully remembered the countless times the ruby dragon had bested him at . . . well, everything.

Layla mused on the memory that Palé sent her for a few seconds and then, without explanation, abruptly sent them both one of her own.

Four dragons were lounging on a cliff in the evening, one much larger than the others, whose azure hue was muted by the red tinge in Layla's eyes. Saphira. She was teaching the other dragons something about how to escape downdrafts. They were black, brown, and pink – Drëya, Mánya, and Rosalie.

Ikraan snorted to himself when the caught a glimpse of her. Not for the first time, he wondered what kind of dragon could live under a name like  _Rosalie_. At that moment, he felt phantom muscles stretch as Layla yawned involuntarily.

Saphira's deep voice sounded,  _Show a little respect for your teacher, Layla. This information will save your life if you are caught in a storm._

Slight shock, embarrassment, chagrin.  _I apologize, Mistress. It will never, ever happen again-_

Saphira now sounded slightly amused.  _There is no need to be quite so apologetic. We all make mistakes. That is a lesson, younglings; no one is infallible. We can always better ourselves, all of us, whether we teach or learn._

 _Including you, Mistress?_ Startlement. Rosalie was certainly in a reckless mood.

But Saphira merely chuckled.  _Certainly including me. I have shown my master far more disrespect than Layla just showed me._

Immediately, they all clamoured for the memory until she grudgingly gave it to them.

 _I trust your discretion,_ she warned them.  _Do not spread this about-_

But they barely heard her, so immersed were they in the memory-

-which the two male dragons saw as well.

 _Mistress Saphira tried to mate with . . . Gleadr-elda?!_ If Palé were human, his jaw would have hit the ground.

Ikraan wasn't quite so incredulous. The emotions Saphira had been experiencing were understandable, though he did think she would have had more control over herself . . .

Layla spoke.  _So you see, Ikraan, everyone has foolish periods in their lives, and they always learn from them. Do not worry overmuch about Senshi. She will also learn._

Ikraan dipped his head.  _Thank you, Layla. For trusting us with that memory, and caring enough to help me._

†

Osra and Zelíe were walking together, carrying piles of folded clothes. Lamaraé was far too soft for everyday use, and not many other materials could withstand the rough usage. So the elves had created a new one they called  _danim_. Osra let her fingers wander over it; it was slightly rough, but firm and strong. It could also be made as tight or as loose as necessary; a blessing for one with her bulk. She was almost completely sure she was a Kull, now; she'd shot up by about a foot in the past month . . .

"Osra?"

"Yes?" She wondered why Zelíe looked so tentative.

"Did you . . . uh . . . notice anything strange about Senshi today?"

Osra frowned slightly. That child barely ever spoke in any case. What had been special today?

"I didn't notice anything in particular. Was something wrong?"

"Well, I might be mistaken, but . . . I don't know. I got the feeling that she might - uh, like Eragon more than is seemly."

" . . . I see." Osra hadn't really noticed that, but now that she thought about it, that might be true. "I suppose it is possible."

"Do you think we should talk to her about it?"

Osra raised her eyebrows, marveling at how humans could be so bad at understanding each other. "Most certainly not. We do not know her, and therefore we have no right. Moreover, she would be mortified."

"But shouldn't we do something? It is wrong to have feelings for one's teacher. She has to understand-"

"She has to understand it on her own. Neither of us are in any position to be giving her advice."

"But we cannot simply let this continue!"

Osra shrugged. "Why not? Either she will make such a fool of herself that we will be forced to intervene or she will come to her senses."

"Couldn't we intervene right now?"

"It would be impertinent and it is unneeded." Osra saw Zelie shoulders slump in defeat as she nodded.

Zelie still wanted to discuss it, though. "I learnt from Kitai that about eight years ago there was a war." Encountering an impassive look from Osra, she hurriedly explained, "It was started by a single disgruntled clan . . . many people died, I think close to five thousand. Including his father." The hard blue eyes were still impassive. Zelíe squirmed a little, beginning to feel uncomfortable. Despite living together for more close to two years, the queenlike Urgal still contrived to disconcert her. Yet she continued, "Apparently his - their - mother carries out the duties of the healer of the village. She knows some magic and makes up for the rest with chants and rituals. She . . . was not exactly the best parent."

Still impassive.

"They have not had easy lives," Zelíe said quietly. ". . . And . . .perhaps Senshi is so desperate for comfort she has turned to Master? He was the first person who showed her kindness - apart from Kitai, of course."

She missed the slight flicker of amusement in Osra's eyes.

"The cause is immaterial if the effect is the same. Our course of action has not changed," Osra said, her tone entirely unaffected. Of course, in a society that focused on fighting, presumably one grew accustomed to such stories. Still, would it really be that hard to show at least a little sympathy?

Zelíe shrugged and headed towards her room. She didn't know why she had confided in Osra, anyway. She sighed and fervently hoped that the next set of Riders would include a human girl.

†

 


	7. Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next group of Riders arrives, and bring with them more than one surprise . . .

 

Standing in front of the huge front doors of the Hall, Eragon shaded his eyes and squinted at the sun. They would be here any minute now . . Behind him, his students shuffled and muttered as they tried to peel their clothes away from their sweaty bodies. They'd been standing out in the afternoon sun for the past five-and-forty minutes, waiting for the next batch of Riders.

Eragon ignored their restlessness. Life wasn't always comfortable. Besides, if the heat was affecting them too adversely, they could always alleviate their discomfort with magic. He shot another glare at the hard blue sky, then glanced at the parchment in his hand for the hundredth time-

_. . .we should arrive nine days after this reaches you, in all likelihood at the third hour after noon. The next four Riders are quite as well balanced as the last batch; a human, an Urgal, a dwarf, and . . . I suspect she is part elf, though she refuses to explain her parentage._

_Also, this time, two male dragons have hatched, from the green and the blue eggs. The other two are female, silver and white. You remember I chose the eggs that day, yes? The last to hatch was the young human's dragon. He chose the name Lifaen, which, of course, sent his namesake into transports, and made Narí exceedingly jealous. I told you, did I not, of the large island that has been discovered far to the West, Tiruvin? And that trade is flourishing between our communities? The human is one of their ilk. We were very lucky to have found him, for he was to have returned to his own country in two weeks. It was surprising, but suitable Riders may be found anywhere, I suppose . . . His name is Caspian, and I think he is entirely suitable. It was a shock to him, but of course I need not warn you to take special care to assuage his homesickness and soothe his worries. Besides, I'm sure you got quite enough practice doing so with the twins._

_There is also a surprise for you that I am sure you will enjoy very much - but I have been sworn to secrecy, so you will have to wait until I arrive._

_All other news I have can wait until I arrive as well, an event I am looking forward to with an eagerness that surprises even myself. I missed you sorely, Eragon. I hope to see you as soon as may be._

_Love,_

_Arya_

Eragon tapped his foot impatiently as he scowled at the sky. It was half an hour past the time! Where were they?

_Calm down, Eragon._

He did not reply. Saphira knew perfectly well why he was so restless. She was feeling much the same at being about to see Fírnen, and yet she managed to keep herself under better control than he kept himself, which annoyed him even further.

Just as he looked down to clear the dark spots from his eyes, Kitai said sharply, "Master!"

Eragon's head whipped up. Tiny multicolored glints of light sparkled on the horizon, approaching fast.

He clenched his fists, inadvertently crushing the letter, and took deep breaths to slow his racing heart. They would arrive when they would, and he could not hasten them. But he still would not tear his eyes away, even when they began to water painfully.

A frown slowly descended on his brow as he watched the approaching dragons. White, silver, green, blue, another, larger green - Fírnen - and . . . red? No red egg had been taken, the only red egg to hatch had been Layla's -

And then it struck him. Thorn! The dragon must be Thorn!

Murtagh was coming!

Saphira uttered a soft roar of elation. It was now far harder to restrain himself from leaping onto her and flying to meet them, to meet both his brother and his love.

Another tense fifteen minutes, and the dragons were close enough that the gusts of wind whipped up by their wings tousled Eragon's hair. He stepped back involuntarily as they landed with heavy  _THUD_ s, one after the other - although he noticed that Thorn seemed to take far more care than was usual while landing - his eyes immediately snapping to his brother.

Murtagh was looking . . . well. Better than Eragon had ever seen him before. Physically he had not changed - his hair was the same, long and thick; he still had the rough startings of dark brown stubble on his cheeks; his eyes were the same fierce gray' he was still tanned, still muscular, still handsome - but his entire bearing was different. He didn't look as angry, as wary as he had used to. In fact, on someone else, Eragon would have called the same expression content.

 _Does he wear . . . a crown?_  Saphira was surprised.  _Did Nasuada make him an earl or some such?_

He looked closer, and saw that Murtagh was indeed wearing a crown, a delicate circlet of silver set with rubies. Eragon raised an eyebrow slightly. Murtagh had some explaining to do . . .

At present, he was grinning widely. When he saw that he'd caught Eragon's eye, he raised Zar'roc in salute. Eragon returned it with Brisingr, his grin just as wide.

Finally, he turned his eyes to the elf on the back of a huge green dragon, his heart full of anticipation and longing.

There she was.

As perfect as ever. As she had been, the last time he saw her.

She was gazing at him steadily, eyes alight with – joy? Excitement? He couldn't tell.

She slid down from Fírnen gracefully and slowly walked up to him, with all the dignity befitting a queen. As she approached, Eragon almost started forward to meet her, to embrace her, to pick her up and twirl her around, but he did not know what she expected from him - the degree of formality she wished to assume - so he forced himself to stay put as she came ever closer. She stopped short just in front of him, head slightly cocked, scrutinizing him comprehensively with those dark green eyes.

He scanned her features in return, hoping for some clue in her bearing. Were they meeting as queen and Head Rider? As shield-mates and old friends? As mates?

Her lips curved upward as she took him in, a smile lighting up her features in a way he still wasn't used to seeing. He couldn't help smiling in return as he twisted his hand over his chest.

"Atra esterni ono thelduin, Arya Drottning," he said softly, having decided that he couldn't go wrong with a standard greeting.

"Atra du evarínya ono varda," she replied, her smile growing brighter and wider. She took a step forward and hugged him tight, so quickly that it was doubtful any who were not elves saw much more than a blur.

He returned it, and as she stepped away he thought his heart might overflow with happiness. Saphira was enthusiastically reinforcing this feeling as she reunited with Firnen. Even the Eldunarya in the back of his mind, who had wanted to witness this meeting, seemed content, if slightly amused.

Arya moved to greet the elves, simultaneously opening her mind to Gleadr and Umaroth. Eragon looked back at Murtagh, and saw that he had paused in the motion of swinging one leg over Thorn's neck. His eyes followed Arya, then flicked back to Eragon. Eragon shrugged with one shoulder, still grinning, and gestured for Murtagh to dismount even as he strode forward. Murtagh shook his head slightly, brows still raised but beginning to smile, and jumped down.

And Eragon stopped as though he'd been struck, gaping at the other person on Thorn's back with his mouth open. He looked at Murtagh, then swung around to look at Arya - who grinned at him delightedly - and then turned back to Thorn, at a loss for words. Even Saphira swung her head around to sniff at her, seeming startled.

Murtagh grinned at his expression and offered his hand to the person to help her dismount, saying, "Eragon, I'd like you to meet-"

She jumped down too quickly, her red silk dress rustling, and Murtagh quickly grabbed her other hand, steadying her. He smiled down at her and pressed the hands clasped in his own lightly.

"-my wife, Queen Nasuada."

His mouth dropped open for the second time in as many minutes. "She - your  _wife_?!" Eragon could barely squeak. He had known that each had been attracted to the other, but  _marriage_?

"When - how - what-"

Nasuada laughed, holding out her hands to Eragon. He took them instantly, and she pulled him into a warm hug. He returned it fiercely, almost unable to believe she was actually here.

She moved back slightly, beaming up at him. "It's wonderful to see you again, Eragon. Ah, you've gotten even taller!"

Two laughs sounded together; his and the elven queen's. Nasuada's comment had reminded him irresistibly of Arya three years ago, saying the exact same thing.

"Arya said that as well, three years ago," he grinned. "It's wonderful to see you too, it's been too long. I can hardly believe -This is certainly a surprise!"

Saphira said dryly, broadcasting for everyone to hear,  _That is a massive understatement._

Nasuada turned to her, still beaming. "How are you, Saphira?"

 _Well enough, Nasuada._ The azure dragon lowered her snout to touch Nasuada's forehead.  _It is good to see you once again._

Eragon pulled Murtagh into a hug as well, pounding his back. "I expect to hear a full account of how this happened," he said, grinning broadly. " _Everything_ , you hear me? How have you been, you and Thorn?"

Murtagh was grinning as well. "We have been well. We've been kept very busy, as you well know. As to how I ended up with-" He gestured to the circlet on his head. "Well, it's a long story,"

"You have plenty of time to tell me . . . Are you then king now?"

Murtagh shook his head. "We both know a Rider on the throne of the Broddring Kingdom would be an exceedingly bad idea. I am simply the Queen's consort - King Consort, they call me."

"I see. We'll have to sit down directly to talk about this, I can hardly wait to hear the story." Eragon looked past him to Thorn's huge red head, sparkling against the clear blue sky, opening his mind.  _Greetings, Thorn. I'm glad to find you strong and well. It is an immense pleasure to see you here._

Thorn bowed his head and touched Eragon's head with his snout, his hot breath fanning Eragon's cheeks.  _Likewise, Shadeslayer. I look forward to meeting the younglings._

_As do they. I hope we will make your stay here a pleasant one._

Thorn snorted softly in acknowledgement, and raised his head. Nasuada had by this time completed the exchange with Saphira, and turned back to Eragon as Murtagh went to do the same, smiling impishly. Eragon couldn't help laughing at her expression.

"A pleasant surprise?" she asked.

"Undoubtedly," he replied. "Thank you so much for coming. But can Alagaesia really spare your presence?"

"The riots have died down, wealth is pouring in from our trade with Tiruvin, and we are recovering from the war well, so yes, I think so. Besides, I've spent nigh on six years labouring to rebuild the country, and if I hadn't agreed to this I rather think Jörmundur would have shipped me off somewhere himself. According to him I've been sprouting grey hairs like mushrooms in the rain, so . . ." She grinned, teeth flashing bright. "I had no choice. And - oh! Murtagh-"

Murtagh met her gaze and smiled. "Now?"

"Yes. I want to see him gape once more. Goodness, but it brings back memories! You used to make the same face almost every single time Arya walked into a room, even if there was a meeting taking place-"

"Yes, well, we needn't go into all that now," Eragon said hastily.

"He still does," a melodious voice said from behind him. Arya walked to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him, smiling.

Nasuada's eyes moved from Eragon to Arya and back again, much as Murtagh's had done before, and her smile grew broader. "It seems like you have much to tell us as well, Shadeslayer. But first, your surprise. Thorn, if you will?"

Thorn stretched his long, red neck and twisted it around until his snout was almost touching his saddle. As he nosed amongst the various bags and cases strapped there, Murtagh said, "We'd wanted to do this ourselves, but we felt that Thorn also deserved to have the pleasure of surprising you." The wry face Eragon made at him was spoiled by the fact that he simply could not stop smiling. He almost bounced on his feet, curious and eager to see what the surprise might be.

Thorn finally found what he was looking for. As he brought his head back forward, Eragon saw that he held a colourfully patterned sack made of thick, soft wool very carefully between his teeth.

Thorn gently laid it on the flagstones and tugged on the drawstring, opening it. His mind-voice reverberated with amusement,  _Do try to keep your mouth closed this time, Argetlam._

 _I-_ His reply was cut off as a small, dark head poked out of the bag.

Eragon entirely failed to keep his mouth closed. He whipped around to stare at Murtagh and Nasuada, almost yelping in shock. "You - that's -  _what?_ "

They laughed in unison, filling the air with their merriment. Eragon could hardly believe his eyes as a small girl clambered out, looking about her curiously. She was as dark as her mother, but had Murtagh's iron-grey eyes. Her hair was of a soft tint between brown and black, and she wore a loose, comfortable green frock.

Her gaze fell upon her parents, but as she began to move towards them she caught sight of Eragon, standing next to them, and slowed her pace, scrutinizing him warily. Then she blinked and changed direction to stumble towards him, eyes glowing with excitement and recognition. "Eh-a-gohn!" she shouted.

Feeling as though he was dreaming, he picked her up and balanced her on one hip, ducking as she attempted to grab his hair.

_I told you you should have cut it._

_Is this really the time, Saphira?_

Of all the questions tumbling around his disordered mind, only one made it past his lips. "How does she know me?"

"We've told her about you quite often, and Murtagh impressed an image of you on her mind when she wanted to know what you looked like."

"I have a niece," he said softly, gazing into her small, beaming face. He looked up at Murtagh and Nasuada, feeling as though he was vibrating with joy, his cheeks hurting from smiling so widely. "I have a  _niece_!  _Another_  niece! How long have you been hiding her from me?"

"Nearly two years now?"

" _Two years?_ " Eragon pointed at Murtagh dramatically. "Name the time and place of our duel, sir. You shall pay for this base treachery!"

The girl tried to catch his finger, nearly tipping out of his arms. He hastily cradled her more carefully, grinning as she laughed when his finger evaded her grasp and instead tapped her lightly on the nose.

"Her name is Selena."

Eragon's head whipped up to stare at Murtagh. He forgot to keep his finger moving and Selena caught it triumphantly.

"Selena," he repeated softly.

Murtagh nodded, his face expressionless. Eragon continued to gaze at him, hot brown eyes meeting cool grey ones, until something gave way, almost imperceptibly, in the latter. The brown eyes softened, and Eragon turned his attention back to the girl, softly cooing at her.

†

Caspian's curious gaze was riveted on the sight of the saviour of Alagaësia playing with a toddler. He didn't look half as scary or strict as the others had speculated he would be; he looked . . . kind? Brave? No . . . quietly confident. Yes, that fit much better. Quietly confident. Someone courteous and compassionate, but who would stand for no nonsense.

He let his eyes rove over the others standing in around him. King Murtagh and Queen Nasuada looked ecstatic as they watched their daughter, as did Queen Arya. Next to him, Dara looked amused at the look of bewilderment on Akhtar's face.

The dwarf, Sorya, looked slightly nauseated, but mostly angry. She was always angry. It showed in the tenseness of her body and the curtness of her words. Caspian would have liked to help, but she was always inside a shell . . .

. . . like that dark girl across from him. Senshi.

He'd seen her face when Queen Arya had hugged Eragon; it had had anguish written all over it. Now she was impassive, not even looking at her teacher, staring off into the distance.

But her posture, her stance, and most of all, her eyes gave her away. She looked tired, despairing, depressed; as though life had beaten her down so many times that she now believed that happiness was simply not meant for her. He bit his lip and looked away. He could not help her. The way she stood - apart - betrayed that she was really close to none other than her dragon. He could not help her, and dwelling on her would not serve any purpose except to upset him.

Instead, he looked to the elves and his fellow students. The elves were all similar, all with slanting eyes and lithe bodies. The only difference between then were the colors of their clothes, hair, and their features. They all were watching Selena, joyful expressions on their face.

The new Riders . . . a female Urgal, she must be Osra. A pleased dwarf with pleasant eyes; Ravûn. A dark haired elf who looked calmly impassive; Këyal. A dark boy with the same golden eyes as Senshi; her brother, Kitai.

He glanced at the last one, a girl-

\- and could not tear his eyes away.

She was  _gorgeous_. Startling violet eyes, beautiful gold curls, a slim silhouette, lips like rosebuds, a heart-shaped face . . . Caspian had never seen anyone like her in his life. He could not tear his gaze away from her. After a few minutes it seemed that she felt his gaze on her, for she looked at him inquiringly. He could not move; he could not even smile, though he remembered her name - Zelíe. The prettiest name he'd ever known. She raised a playful eyebrow and beamed dazzlingly at him.

He had no idea what he would have done if two elves had not come towards them from the Hall at that moment. One was certainly Blödhgarm, while the other was a female with silver hair. Yaela, perhaps?

She started, "I apologize for our tardiness, Queen Nasuada and Arya Dröttning. We were-"

She caught sight of Dara and stopped dead.

The sight of an elf dumbstruck was novel enough to wrench Caspian's eyes away from Zelíe. He turned to look at Dara, wondering what the matter was. Certainly she was striking; not because she was any beauty, but because of her features and her rather inhuman grace. Her eyes were a plain brown, but they slanted upwards at the corners ever so slightly while her were features were faintly reminiscent of a cats'. When she walked she seemed to glide over the floor, and her laugh was one of the most ethereal sounds Caspian had ever heard. But her most arresting feature was her hair. Its light brown was uplifted by the silvery sheen that seemed to coat every strand. When she moved, it shimmered in the afternoon sun, much like her dragon. Caspian knew that Queen Arya suspected she was not fully human, and judging by the look on Yaela's face, she thought so as well.

Dara herself stiffened when she saw Yaela, and her eyes were suddenly wary and uncertain.

Yaela snapped out of her shock and strode towards Dara, demanding, "What is your name?"

Caspian caught sight of King Murtagh's raised eyebrows. He felt the same; were the elves not famed for their courtesy?

Dara answered in a low voice, rigid with conflicting emotions. "Dara Tristansdaughter."

"Where are you from?" Yaela snapped.

"Lighthaven, a settlement on the outskirts of Cuenon."

"What was your mother's name?"

_Was?_

Dara stiffened even more and did not reply.

Silver tresses flying, Yaela lunged forward and grabbed Dara's upper arm in a painful grip..

"Answer me, child! What was her name?" The elf seemed almost desperate now.

"I don't know. She died when I was born."

"You lie! Your father must have told you!" Yaela tightened her grip, her fingers digging into Dara's arms. Dara winced.

"I don't know!"

" _Tell me!"_ Everyone flinched at the near-shriek. Even Selena was staring, open-mouthed.

"Her name was Natiri!" Dara spat. "Now will you get  _off_  me?"

Yaela did so, stumbling back. "Natiri . . . So it is - it was true . . ."

"And what is your name?" Dara's tone was heavy, as though she knew the answer to her question.

Dazed, the elf murmured, "Yaela."

Dara grimaced bitterly, then stood irresolute, warring within herself for ten long seconds, before stepping forward stiffly and kneeling.

"Then I must beg your blessing . . . grandmother."

†

Half a day had passed, and they were all gathered in the dining room for the evening meal. Eragon had personally settled the new arrivals in their rooms. Now he watched Dara carefully, thinking that she still looked rather upset. She only answered the occasional comment sent her way by Akhtar or Caspian with the briefest of smiles, and then returned her eyes to her food.

_I hope it will pass._

_Celesté will take care of it,_  Saphira replied. Eragon agreed, recalling the purposeful silver dragon, who was currently tugging on a haunch of meat on the far side of the room.

Arya, who was sitting next to him, gave him a slight nudge. He gave her an apologetic smile and shifted his gaze to his other new students, sizing them up.

Caspian was the one from Tiruvin, and his dragon was the green Lifaen. He was rather wiry, and had an olive complexion, raven-black locks, and honey-brown eyes. He seemed to be a kind boy; Eragon noted his frequent attempts to involve Sorya and Senshi in the conversation, and how he seemed completely willing to comply with any requests. His accent was especially pleasing to the ear; a smooth, liquid voice that reminded Eragon of lazy honey oozing from the jar. He also noted how frequently he glanced over at Zelíe, and smiled to himself. It seemed that Kitai had competition.

Akhtar was older than Osra, old enough for it to be evident that he was not a Kull. Nevertheless, he was tall and very powerfully built. His blue dragon, Jethran, was far larger and heavier than usual to accommodate his Rider.

On the other hand, Corinne, Sorya's white dragon, was small and agile, while Sorya herself . . . Eragon knew not what to conclude about her. While Akhtar and Caspian had exclaimed at the wonders of the Hall, she had been sullen and silent. At present she was staring at her plate, stabbing her food like it had personally offended her. She had thick, fiery red hair that flowed in gentle waves almost to her knees. Her complexion was creamy, and her face regular. Her most arresting features were her large, expressive eyes; they were a vivid, sparkling green, like bright leaves under chipped ice, currently smoldering with fury.

Eragon frowned faintly. He would have to discover the cause of that anger before it disturbed the harmony at the Hall.

Not that the Hall had been very harmonious of late . . . He made an involuntary grimace as he remembered last week, and the shouting match that had taken place between Këyal and Zelíe.

_Ah, I was to confirm the cause of his dissatisfaction, was I not?_

He spoke in a soft undertone, "Arya, can you tell me anything about Këyal's family?"

A faint shadow of surprise crossed her face, but she readily replied, "Why, of course. He lived in Ceris with an older sister. His brother is Vanir, as you know. His parents were both Riders, and both perished in the Fall, killed by one of the Forsworn. "

"Do you remember which one?"

She frowned in an effort of memory. "I think it was . . . Morzan. Yes, Morzan. Why the sudden curiosity?"

"It's just that I've had an idea as to the cause of his resentment towards the other Riders, and even myself . . . I thought it might be because he has reason to believe that any Riders other than elves are weak and flawed. Given that Morzan was a human, and another human created the Forsworn in the first place . . ."

"I see. That does seem like a plausible explanation. Vanir, however, seems to have renounced that attitude, and so I hope Këyal will do as well. Ah, speaking of elves who considered that humans make weak Riders, have you managed to find out anything else about Queen Dellanir?"

"Only a little. From what I have gathered from the twins, after her abdication, she wandered the land freely,finally deciding to settle in the forest to the north. I do not know why she chose to do so, but she has since been a half-legendary protectress who is rarely seen, almost a goddess. That she chose to reveal herself to the twins, and command them, was considered a very high honour. Of course, they did not know they were to be bonded to dragons; she simply told them how to break into the Hall and described the eggs they were to touch."

"Interesting. I will think on this further. I would very much like to meet her . . ."

Eragon looked up just then to see Yaela leaving the room. He hastily rose from his seat, then stopped, irresolute. He leaned towards Arya and whispered, "Will you meet me in our room?"

She nodded, amused by his curiosity. "Tell me what she says."

He smiled at her - she knew him so well – before hurrying to catch up with the older elf.

She turned as he reached her, face smooth and expressionless.

"Yes, Shadeslayer?"

"Yaela-elda, if you do not mind, could you -"

"You wish me to explain my connection with Dara."

"Er, yes, elda."

"There is nothing to explain. My daughter was a wayward, feckless creature who attempted every half-baked notion that entered her head. She decided that she wished to live amongst humans, and so she changed her appearance and eventually  _married_ -" Her mouth twisted, "- one of them. I suppose humans were more interesting to her than her own family. She died while giving birth to her daughter; that is, Dara. Now if you don't mind, I have business elsewhere." She turned on her heel and stalked off.

Eragon winced, then shook his head. The day had been wonderful, but rather overwhelming, and all he wanted to do now was find Arya and sit with her for an hour or so. He made his way to the room they had shared so many times before, and slowly pushed the door open. Arya was curled up on the couch, staring abstractedly at the flickering candle.

"Still thinking about Dellanir?"

She gave him a welcoming smile. "Eragon."

He smiled as well, closing the door behind him, and quickly eased himself onto the couch. He held out his arms, and she readily nestled into them. Resting his head on hers, with her warm weight pressing down on his chest, he felt the slight, constant irritation of the past three years fade away. This was where he belonged; she was as much a part of him as was Saphira.

He closed his eyes, revelling in the sensation. Slowly, they opened their minds to each other, only rarely using words. They shared their doings of their years spent apart; emotions, memories, and musings.

Eragon was startled by how acutely she'd felt his loss. She pulled away slightly, piqued.  _Did you think I would not miss you? Is that how you estimate the depth of my affection for you?_

He nuzzled the side of her neck, gratefully breathing in the fresh scent of crushed pine needles.  _After so long spent pining after you like the moonling I was, can you blame me if I tend towards caution in estimating such things? Besides, you are very hard to read, love. I only know how you feel when you choose to let me know._

She rested against him once more.  _Well, I've had enough practice with that . . ._

 _I know._ Unbidden, an image of her body streaked with bruises and lacerations flashed across his mind. He growled softly at the hateful memory and clutched her tighter. That would never happen again if he had any say in it.

Arya's levity lightened his mood.  _Why, it seems I have a champion to defend me._

_As always, princess._

_You mean Queen._

_Mmm, no . . . I rather think you'll always remain a princess to me - diadem notwithstanding._

†

Dara stretched drowsily, feeling the last of her annoyance washed away by the calming ambience and comfortable bed she was presently lying on. She was in Zelíe's room, listening to a tirade about the bastard that Këyal was.

" . . . I had just met him and he snorted, 'Oh, a human,' and walked off! And he's been nothing but infuriating for the past three years!" Zelíe fumed.

"He didn't even say anything to me; he just looked at me like he preferred dirt and then ignored me. How have you managed to tolerate him for three entire years?"

"Oh, we usually ignore him, and thankfully he keeps to himself. He even behaves rudely to Master, can you believe that?"

"To Master Eragon? And he gets away with that?"

"He doesn't insult him outright, but he sometimes drops these thinly-veiled hints. I don't know how Master manages to keep his temper, I really don't." She smacked a hand into a pillow as hard as she could.

Dara closed her eyes and mumbled sleepily, "I suppose after having gone to war he finds such things rather trivial. He would have received more than his fair share of discrimination after the Agaetí Blödhren as well from humans, for his appearance. You know, because of mixed blood."

"Speaking of mixed blood . . ." Zelíe hesitated.

Dara sighed, eyes still closed. There was no point in trying to hide her parentage now. "Yaela's daughter is my mother. I am part elf."

"I see. Well, anyway, it will be nice to have more sociable company. Osra is entirely calm and level headed; nothing ever seems to excite her. Senshi keeps to herself even more than that elf . . . Ravûn is nice, though. I'm sure you will like him."

"I'm sure I will too . . ." she was almost asleep.

"Kitai - "Zelíe blushed faintly and started anew. "Can you tell me anything about the others?"

"Hmmm? Oh, of course . . . Akhtar is perhaps a little more excitable than Osra seems to be. When he laughs it vibrates through your entire body. He's not a Kull, though . . . Caspian is a sweetheart; from the foreign isles, of course, but none the worse for that. He cares a lot about other people, and sometimes forgets to care for himself in the process. A good listener and one you can confide in. I don't know much about Sorya, though. She doesn't seem to want to be a Rider, and she never talks . . ." Dara gave a huge yawn. "Can I . . . sleep now? I'm so tired . . ." Another thirty seconds, and she was fast asleep.

Zelíe chuckled and lay down next to her. The bed was certainly big enough for two, if not three. She loved being able to design her own room.

" _Darken_ ," she whispered, and the Erisdar tastefully hung on the walls gradually dimmed to a comfortable twilight.


	8. Poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eragon goes out on a flight with Saphira, and it's not quite as relaxing as he had hoped . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absolutely nothing to see here. Enjoy the chapter!

 

Eragon yelled in exhilaration as Saphira swept into a heart-stopping dive, the stinging wind bringing tears into his eyes. He felt the strain in her wings and the thump of her huge heart as she pulled up slowly and flapped hard - high, higher, so high that crystals of ice began to form on her scales.

He coughed and rubbed his face as the stinging cold bit into it.  _Saphira, a bit lower, please._

She snorted with impatience, but complied.  _You could just cast a spell to keep yourself warm._

 _I need to conserve all my energy._ He grinned widely as Saphira's exasperation reached him.

_She is barely two years old. It's not all that hard to take care of her._

_Of course it is. You have scales – you are protected from her vicious assaults._

She chuckled low in her throat, a deep, guttural sound that caused a startled eagle to sheer away.  _Vicious assaults, indeed._ Eragon saw her memories of the day before –

_She stretched luxuriously and twisted, exposing more of her body to the bone-warming-bright-sun. She loved the days of rest – it was tiring showing the young ones the same dives, swoops and turns every day. She sighed heavily as she settled her huge head on the cool stones of the courtyard in the Gardens, and closed her eyes, content. This was her private retreat. None would dare disturb her here-_

_A delighted squeal pierced the air as the small-dark-happy-princess Selena stumbled into her Circle, the partner-of-her-heart-and-mind in playful pursuit. When Selena saw her, she did not stop in awe and admiration as did the rest of the two-legs. She squealed at an even higher pitch and wrapped her tiny arms around as much of Saphira's head as she could, while Eragon laughed till he cried, the deep cadence of his amusement echoing off the walls of the Tower. Saphira fixed him with one glittering eye._

Little one, catch him,  _she said, nudging the child away. Selena clapped in delight at this new game and fixed her intent gaze on Eragon._

 _He stopped laughing abruptly and backed away._ " _Selena, you don't want to catch me. Don't-_ "  _he turned and ran as Selena, a clarion yell ringing from her tiny mouth, leaped forward, legs pumping furiously._

_He didn't move fast enough._

_She tackled his legs, caused him to trip and fall, and pounded on his chest triumphantly as he lay gasping on the cobbles._ " _Saphi-ah, I caugh' 'im!"_   _she yelled happily._

_Saphira felt the laughter bubbling up. She let her amusement roll over the girl like a wave, who grinned toothlessly in response._

Well done. Now, little one . . . kindly tickle him.

" _No!" Eragon's desperate scream was of no avail. Saphira's trainee in the art of torture had no mercy._

Eragon laughed out loud.  _I never knew children could be so much fun._

_Indeed. It should make the Hall interesting when you have younglings of your own._

His grin vanished and she felt heat surge into his ears.  _Saphira . . ._

She deftly changed the subject even as he felt her smile at his embarrassment.  _Sorya seems to be getting better, yes?_

_Actually, I don't think so. Better at controlling her anger, perhaps, but happier at being a Rider- I don't think so. It is as though she has hammered her rage into a shield. Does Corinne give no help?_

_Of course not. Which dragon would give the personal details of their Rider to another dragon? They would only do so if they felt they did not know how to help said Rider, and since Corinne has not confided in anyone else, she must feel that she is capable enough to help Sorya._

_Hmm. I only hope she is not overestimating her abilities. She is, after all, the youngest-_

_Young she might be, but she is more mature than you were when I hatched for you._

_That's rather harsh, Saphira._

_Eragon, it seems your intellect is dulling. You know even a dragon of six months is more ancient in her thoughts than most men of five-and-fifty. You also know no one knows Sorya better than her dragon; consequently Corinne is in a far better position to judge the state of Sorya's mind and her own capabilities than you are. How can you not see this?_

He sighed.  _I do not know. You're right – my intellect must be dulling._

She calmed down, her indignation fading slowly.  _Your concern is understandable. My view is simply that there must be concerns at Galfni that still prey on her mind, perhaps family or clan problems. Once those are removed she will put her soul into her studies, for she is . . . a proud child. Imperious, capable of wielding power. And there are none more powerful than a Rider._

 _I think –_ Eragon frowned as a faint buzzing reached his ears. He looked all around, but the sky seemed clear.

Saphira turned her head like him, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound.

It was Eragon who finally located it.  _There._

A black arrow was speeding upwards towards them. It was painted with streamers of glowing orange that writhed across the shaft, reminding Saphira of the flames of the fire-and-smoke- filled-Burning-Plains.

It was still some distance off, but was swiftly closing the distance.

"Letta," Eragon said lazily.

The arrow did not budge from its course. It was now only forty feet away.

His dark brows angled downwards as he frowned. "Letta!" he snapped

Twenty feet.

"Letta!" Urged by his sudden anxiety, Saphira dove into a steep dive, trying to evade the missile. But it pursued them, cementing her belief that it was guided by magic.

Ten feet. Five feet-

"Thrysta vin-"

The spell was cut off as the tip of the short arrow sank into his neck, and he slumped forward on her neck with a quiet gurgle.

Saphira roared in pain and fury as she felt the bright light of his mind vanish. A cloud of startled birds rose from the forest and swirled around her as she whipped around and forced her tired muscles to propel them to the Hall, hoping desperately that she wouldn't be too late.

† 

Senshi looked up in surprise from where she was weeding the flowerbeds as Saphira dropped through the Tower like a stone, flaring her huge wings just enough to slow her fall. She landed with a huge, jarring thud, casting out her mind as she did so.

Arya arrived at a sprint within thirty seconds, and leapt to the saddle with inhuman grace, countenance marred by worry. She quickly lifted the unconscious Head Rider into her arms and clambered down carefully.

Senshi's heart skipped a beat when she saw her teacher's head lolling on his neck like that of a puppet whose strings had been severed. What could have happened to him? He was one of the most powerful magicians she'd ever known, what-

The arrow clattered to the floor as Saphira rose to follow Arya down the corridor.

Senshi had the oddest sensation of the world spinning around her.

 _Senshi, are you all right?_  Ikraan asked, worry beginning to spark in his mind. She didn't answer him as she picked the arrow up with trembling fingers. She knew that pattern. She knew who had shot the arrow. She knew who had tried to kill Eragon.

And the realization forged her shock and worry and fear into sparkling, diamond-hard fury.

How  _dare_ they? A group of lily-livered, illiterate  _rats_ who feared what they could not comprehend and used their magic to harm the weak- how  _dare_  they try to harm her teacher?

There was an answering surge of anger from Ikraan as he saw what was in her mind.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm down. She was the only one who could help – but she had to check how far gone he was first.

_I'll be waiting by the front doors. Be fast._

_I will._

She sprinted after Saphira, arrow still clutched in one hand, in time to see Arya's distant figure duck into the sickroom. She ducked under Saphira's sparkling blue belly and ran after her.

 _Senshi, what are you doing?_ Saphira's anger was sharpened by her worry.

Senshi did not pause. Every second wasted brought Eragon closer to death.  _I know how to save him, Mistress._

She did not even acknowledge Saphira's flicker of hope as she dashed through door, where Arya had just laid Eragon down on a cot and was about to start a spell.

"No!" she gasped.

Queen Arya's eyes snapped open, and Senshi recoiled involuntarily. The her eyes burned with desperation and fear. "He's dying, child!"

"Trust me . . . magic will only . . . make it worse," Senshi panted.

"But-"

Eragon moaned suddenly, flinging his arm so it narrowly missed a glass beaker. Arya hurried to restrain him, but he quickly grew more agitated, tossing and turning, screaming unintelligible words.

Fear threatened to overwhelm her. They must have used a stronger concentration – she had never seen anyone succumb this fast.

She spoke tersely. " _Queen, believe me, I know how this happened, and I can cure it – but I need time. You can use magic to alleviate his pain, but do not try to discover or remove the cause. I will be back as soon as possible."_

She hardly waited for Queen Arya to nod before she whipped out of the room, sprinting to the Doors, eyes blurring with angry tears.

Which was possibly why she ran smack into her brother.

He clutched at her to keep from falling and the two swayed, struggling for balance. Senshi fought down her rising tide of anger at being slowed down, but the dam burst when she saw Zelíe leaning against the wall, hair and clothes disheveled, expression teetering between amusement, annoyance, and embarrassment.

" **Come** ," she growled in their native tongue, dragging him along with an iron grip.

"Senshi,  **what- let go!** " She did not loosen her grip by a fraction.

" **I was in the middle of something, you know. What is so impor-** "

"Vilta!" she snapped.

The blood drained from his face, and when she glanced at him she could read his thoughts as they flashed across his face.

_Vilta, the incurable disease - !_

" **What?! How is that possible? Who is it?** " he demanded, now easily keeping pace with her.

"Eragon **, and I don't know how! Are you going to help or not?** "

He drew in his breath sharply. " **Of course I'll help**."

" **How many do you know**?"

"Vailè, haldin, kenäd, and elrun." Better than she had hoped for – vailè and kenäd were amongst the hardest to find.

" **Very well. Be careful-** " They dashed out the front doors, where Ikran and Palé waited restlessly, glittering purple and gold in the lazy evening sun. " **-be sure to get the right ones. I only need five leaves of each.** "

"Senshi- " he grasped her arm tightly, pulling her to face him. " **Are you really going to - are you sure you can do this? I might be able to -** "

She met his gaze unwaveringly. " **She never taught you as much as she taught me. And yes, I am sure, because failure is not an option here.** "

He gritted his teeth, but gave a sharp nod and let go. Without another word, the two got onto their respective dragons and flew out north, towards their homeland.

†

When she got back, she was exhausted. It was tiring to search through the forest, bent almost double, peering at plants, looking for the specific herbs she'd need. Out of the nine, she'd found three. The other two she needed were almost impossible to find, and she'd had to get back quickly . . .

. . . so she'd done what she'd sworn to herself she'd never do again.

She'd gone home.

Only for a few minutes, thankfully. Once she was past the barriers she simply summoned her mother's pouch of herbs and extracted what she'd need. After two years of training, she was very aware of how woefully weak the magical barriers were.

She'd managed to get out unseen, and within ten minutes of leaping back onto Ikran, the Hall was within sight. She saw a glittering gold shape come up on her right and extended her mind.

_**Have you got them, Kitai?** _

_**Yes. It took me long enough to find them. How did you find all five so fast?** _

_**I . . . may have borrowed a few from Ma.** _

The blast of his exasperation and worry nearly knocked her sideways.  _ **You're just begging to have her curse you, you know that?**_

She snarled at him more viciously than she had intended, unable to stop the resentment from bubbling up and over in the midst of her worry.  _ **Of course, because that's what parents do to their children, yes? Curse them? I'll believe in her ridiculous curses when the sun goes out. I owe her nothing, Kitai-**_

_**She is still our mother-** _

_**By blood, and unfortunately there's nothing I can do about that.**_ Her hand closed tight around the herbs she held.  _ **Eragon has done more for me than she ever has – or will.**_

He forbore to push her, and spent the rest of the flight pouring his strength into her and the dragons; the dragons to aid their flight, and her because she would need all her energy for what was ahead . . .

They reached the Hall in record time. As soon as she alighted she grabbed the herbs from Kitai and crushed them in her hand, squeezing the leaves between her fingers, releasing pungent scents into the cool air. She quickly rolled it into a small ball – and hesitated.

The cure needed the blood of someone whom she trusted without reserve. Two years ago, she would not have even hesitated to ask her brother . . . but now she was not so sure.

_Well, I may be a fool and that may be his fault or mine or both, but I don't have time right now to think about this!_

Avoiding his eyes, she muttered, " _Cut."_

A drop of blood oozed between Ikran's scales and landed on the small pill, turning its bright green-yellow to a dark, sickly green.

Without thinking twice, she swallowed it-

\- and gasped in pain as it blazed a trail of fire down her throat. Clutching at her stomach, she hurried inside, towards the sickroom, trying not to stagger. Blotches of darkness clawed at the edges of her vision and she felt a slow, throbbing pain build up within her muscles. She gritted her teeth and forced her trembling legs to work faster. If she didn't reach Eragon in time, he would die, and she would be torn apart . . .

She felt a hard hand at her elbow – her brother guiding her. Another hand, careful and gentle- who could it be?

She caught the fleeting scent of mulling spices, cinnamon and clove, and knew it was that boy, the one with the kind eyes - Caspian.

"What happened to her?" His voice barely made it past the roaring in her ears.

"It doesn't matter, just help her. She has to make it in time!"

With their support, she managed to make it to the sickroom, and just barely in time. She could feel the dull pain slowly turning into heat.

She took a deep breath and stood as straight as she could, shaking off Caspian and Kitai.

†

Caspian watched worriedly as Senshi closed her eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. He devoutly hoped she knew what she was doing. They could not have another on the sick list . . .

For Master Eragon was in a desperate state. In the past half an hour, he'd gotten rapidly worse, until the only thing stopping him from dying was the elven magic. He'd been screaming, thrashing, convulsing, sobbing; and when he opened his eyes once, they were glazed and unseeing. Caspian could not imagine what nightmares stalked through Master's mind to reduce him to his state.

He'd been trying to help as much as he could. He did have some experience with ill and truculent patients, being the eldest of a number of siblings, but for the past hour he'd simply skulked around the room, feeling useless as the elves took it in shifts to weave incredibly complex spells around the weak Rider. And Queen Arya . . . she participated in every spell, her mouth a thin line, eyebrows furrowed, pain etched in every line of her face.

Senshi opened her eyes. She now stood tall and confident and . . . Caspian thought he could see - could it truy be -

Yes, those were faint curves of light rippling over her skin. He watched incredulously as she seemed to force all the ripples together with sheer force of will. The light thickened and deepened, becoming a rich yellow, pouring up her body and down her arms, and pooled over her palms in two pulsing orbs of such power that his hair stood on end, though he was not close by her.

She walked slowly to the bedside, her eyes glowing bright like her palms. She positioned her hands so they were side by side, and then pushed them down hard, so they struck Eragon's chest with a firm thump.

When she lifted them up again, the orbs were gone.

Queen Arya's lips parted in shock, and she looked at Senshi with a new hope in her eyes, fingers clenching tight on the side of the bed.

Senshi closed her eyes again, gathering her strength for the next time. The ripples were a harder to see now, and she took longer to collect the light. Her arms were shaking. Once again, she brought her palms down with a thump and pushed the light into his chest.

Eragon's breathing grew easier, and he lay quietly on the bed, face peaceful.

The elves were watching silently, eyes wide as Senshi closed her eyes for the last time. Her whole body was trembling now, and her skin was grey and sweaty. The orbs grew, flickered, died-

 _You can do it, Senshi,_  Caspian thought desperately, heart in his throat.  _Try, I know you can, you have to -_

She clenched her teeth and concentrated. The orbs grew slowly, becoming the brightest yet. She lifted her arms slowly, and pushed down with a quiet cry, thrusting the light into Eragon-

\- whose back arched as the light seemed to explode out of him, enveloping him in a blinding cocoon of energy. The force pushed everyone back, but Queen Arya struggled forward, trying to reach Eragon.

Senshi stumbled back as well, pushed almost to the wall. In that corner, out of reach of the light, almost no one noticed her quietly crumple to the floor.

Except Caspian.

He made his way to her side, tentatively touched her mind, and was shocked at how weak she was. Quickly, he poured as much strength as his lean frame could spare into her, bitterly reflecting on how people who thought they were strong enough to handle any hardship on their own inevitably never could, hoping fervently she wasn't too far gone to save . . .

As elves, Riders, kings, queens and dragons prayed for a man who was slowly coming back to life, a boy alone in a dark corner did his best to save a girl fading to death.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, after they saw that Eragon would be okay half the elves hurried to Senshi and did everything they could for her, for which Caspian was extremely grateful, since he wasn't entirely sure that he was doing anything right - tuatha du orothim doesn't focus much on healing.
> 
> I don't know, sorry, I'm rambling . . . 


	9. Explanations and Information

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Pinkisoke and Alexander Pizzaro for their comments!

†

Two days after the incident, on a bright morning, Senshi stood in the conference room, facing three mirrors which reflected the faces of King Orik, King Orrin and Nar Garzhvog. Queen Nasuada, Queen Arya and King Consort Murtagh sat opposite the mirrors in a quiet row. Queen Arya fidgeted slightly every now and then, though she tried to hide it - she was anxious, Senshi knew, and eager to get back to Eragon's bedside in case he had woken. That her restlessness was noticeable at all spoke volumes about the state of her mind.

Senshi smiled wryly to herself, ignoring the sharp pang that shot through her chest at the thought of Queen Arya by Eragon's side, tending to him -

Ikraan cut the train of thought off swiftly, nudging her in a different direction. She sent him a quick pulse of gratitude, and did her best to focus once more. What had she been thinking of? Ah, Queen Arya's restlessness.

_I should conclude this as soon as may be, then, so she may leave the sooner._

She briefly closed her tired eyes, took a breath to calm her nerves, and began her explanation.

"Master Eragon was shot by one of the clans from - from the kingdom I come from. A nomad clan, called the  _Chorih_. They are superstitious mercenaries who will work for the highest bidder; the filth of my people. In the clan politics, they may be hired by clan chiefs to do their dirty work – assassinations, poisoning and the like. What they used on Master Eragon is known as Vilta, the incurable disease. It is . . ." she hesitated. How to explain this in a different language? It was like trying to sew with a nail – using a tool designed for an entirely different task.

"It is a . . . a liquid. They mix many herbs and poisons, carefully measured so that the victim is tortured to the greatest extent before death. I am, in truth, surprised they used so much on him. It is difficult to manufacture and small amounts ensure more . . . prolonged suffering. Its use is purchased at a very high cost.

"Vilta is almost impossible to cure. Only three clans have the knowledge of how to reverse, counteract the effects of the poison, and within the clans only highly placed or very experienced people know the precise ingredients required for the cure and the method, the procedure to be followed."

"We are lucky, then, to have one of those people as a Rider." King Orik's voice was gruffly appreciative. "You did well, young one."

She could not suppress a small smile, but she shook her head. "I thank you, King Orik, but I am certainly not one of them. The only reason I knew how to help was because my mother was the  _daakyir_ of our town . . . the one of medicine, the healer." The smile twisted slightly. "She taught me well."

"What are the specific effects of this Vilta?" Nar Garzhvog asked, his voice a low rumble. "You say it used to torture. How so?"

"Vilta . . . affects the brain, causing, uh . . . " She fumbled for words. "What do you say? Hallucinations? It takes your worst nightmares and parades before your mind, twisting them in terrifying ways. At the same time, it targets nerves in certain vital areas of the body, causing an intense pain and weakness.

"The victim cannot take the cure themselves. Someone else must take it. The cure intensifies the . . . I do not know the exact word, but the - the vital energy? The vital energy of the healer's body is intensified, releasing a flow of healing energy that repairs the body of the victim as fast as the Vilta destroys it."

"You say these mercenaries are hired. Who, then, would attempt to kill Eragon? Who may this hidden enemy be?" King Orrin asked.

"I do not know, sire. I cannot think of anyone, unless it be some remnant of the old empire of Alagaesia. To my knowledge no one from my land has any cause to attempt this, though fear and apprehension with respect to the Riders and their intentions is certainly present in some measure. Not enough, however, to warrant this. Agents of the old empire would have the power and money needed to purchase the use of Vilta, yes? If they are indeed present close by? In this land?"

Queen Nasuada frowned slightly. "I would hope not, but I cannot answer with any certainty. It . . . is a possibility, yes."

Senshi nodded. "Else, it might have been that the  _Chorih_ believe Dragon Riders are demons, to be feared, and so might have decided to take matters into their own hands and kill as many as they could . . . though this does not seem like something they would do . . ." She frowned, forcing her weary mind to think. "No, I don't believe they would do this thing of their own will, their own . . . volition. They are worse than rats and jackals – they are the first to take advantage and the last to show courage."

"You nurse quite a grudge, child." Queen Nasuada's voice was quiet.

"I have good reason, Queen. The  _Chorih_ started a clan war seven years ago, when I was ten summers old, to weaken their enemies. They tricked good, honest people with their deceit and caused a slaughter the likes of which has never been seen before in these lands. They shattered us, divided us and turned us against each other, leaving behind too many widows and orphans. Even now we have not completed the process of recovery. Or we had not, when Kitai and I came here." Senshi paused, then said quietly, "And . . . my father was killed."

"My condolences, Senshi. I'm sure he was a noble man."

"He was." Senshi took a breath, trying to seem calm. King Orik caught her eye, however, and there was almost as much understanding in his eyes as there was in Queen Nasuada's. She swallowed, a lump suddenly expanding in her throat, and asked, with tolerable poise, "Has my explanation been adequate? Is there anything further you would like to know?"

"Most adequate, Rider Senshi, yes. I assume Eragon is now recovered?" Orrin asked.

"No, sire. He has remained asleep the past two days. I expect him to wake in two more . . . you see, the cure cannot heal completely. When the concentration used is so high, as it was in his case, it can only arrest the advance of the poison and reduce, mitigate, some damage to the body. To heal entirely would take too much power. Such is the damage Vilta causes. Usually the victim would be left crippled.

"However, I am more . . . hopeful, optimistic, that in this case the healing spells that worked on him during the poison would prevent this. Also, he has the strength of a Dragon Rider. Even so, his body is now trying to repair the damage. It needs rest to do so."

As she spoke, her muscles trembled and she leaned forward slightly to keep her balance. Annoyed, she clenched them tighter, hoping no one had noticed.

But of course, someone had. Murtagh spoke for the first time, the worried frown on his brow unaltered. "If none of you object, I think we should allow Senshi to leave now. She needs rest as well."

Nar Garzhvog said, "Of course. You have done a great deed, child. Be well."

The others assented, and Senshi left the room, sighing thankfully as she allowed her shoulders to slump, her spine to curve.

Caspian and Ravûn were waiting right outside. She came to a halt, blinking at them, then scowled, the ill-temper she'd had to keep in check earlier bursting out, overriding the impulse keep her head down and leave as unobtrusively as possible.

" _Why_  are you still waiting here? Do you not have anything else to do? I do not need you to fuss over me!"

A wry smile danced in Ravûn's eyes. "You should see yourself right now. You look like you're about to faint."

Irritation at that comment erased any diffidence she might have otherwise felt. "I do not!" she snapped, walking away. As she did, her foot slipped on the smooth floor and she toppled over backwards, arms flailing. Caspian quickly caught her.

She huffed in exasperation and righted herself, avoiding their eyes. Caspian glanced at Ravûn, and the two burst out laughing.

"And what is so funny?" she growled, giving them the most vicious glare she could manage.

Caspian's lazy grin flashed out. "You are. You're so . . ."

"So  _what_ , exactly?"

Ravûn chuckled. He took her elbow to guide her."Never mind, girl. Just accept our help, would you?"

"I do not  _need_ your help!" She pulled her elbow away.

Just then, Dara and Zelíe rounded the corner. When they saw her, their eyes widened in concern.

_Oh, wonderful, that's all I need right now -_

"Oh, Senshi, you look like you're about to collapse! Let me help you to your room." Zelíe took her arm.

Senshi recoiled, uncomfortable with the unfamiliar touch. "Zelíe, I - I appreciate it, but -" she started, and Dara grabbed her other arm.

"Don't be silly, Senshi, you should be resting," she said, kind but firm. "Come along." And they marched her away.

Senshi's irritation and mortification were not helped by the reflection, courtesy of Ikraan, that their help was not entirely unnecessary - nor by the ill-suppressed laughter filling the air behind her from Ravûn and Caspian. She refused to look back, vowing instead to find some suitable punishment to visit upon them as soon as she could manage.

†

Later that day, though, she couldn't spare a thought either of them.

She was  _hungry._ She looked out her window at the dark sky and sighed. Damn the healing. It had left her body so irritatingly weak . . . And by now the evening meal was, in all probability, over.

Oh, what she would give for food! And Ikraan's images of meat and a full belly weren't helping.

She moaned quietly and turned over, burying her face in her pillow. The dining hall was three floors below, and her legs refused to support her even as far as the corridor outside - as she had discovered to her cost, an hour or two before - so she had no choice but to endure the gnawing pangs.

She resigned herself to trying to fall asleep, and drew the bedsheet about her more closely, resolutely shutting her eyes. On the morrow, she would be further rested, and hopefully more capable of taming her rebellious body -

She felt Ikraan pause in his progress back to her room, and received a flash of exasperation from him.

_You're making this all so much harder than it has to be. If you want food, can't you just -_

Someone knocked at her door, and Ikraan broke off.

Senshi groaned silently. Who was it? What did they want? Why did they not leave her in peace instead of coming to badger her with questions or tasks that would surely tax her strength further?

But the thought of feigning sleep only had to cross her mind to be dismissed. If she was required in any way, she could not refuse.

"Come in," she called weakly, pushing herself up slowly.

A wiry figure with honey-brown eyes entered, usual smile in place. "Good evening, Senshi."

She pulled the blanket closer about her, fighting an urge to shrink back against the wall as the memory of her earlier outburst returned.

"Good evening," she mumbled.

He paused by the bed and made an enquiring gesture, balancing the tray he held with one hand. She looked at him blankly for a moment before realizing his meaning.

"Oh . . . please." She moved her legs to the side, and he sat on the edge of the bed.

Despite herself, he eyes flickered to the tray almost immediately. "Um - food?"

He smiled, handing it to her. "Indeed. Go ahead."

She balanced it on her knees and lifted a spoonful of broth to her lips almost instantly, a moment's hesitation at eating under Caspian's scrutiny vanishing under the pressure of her hunger. Within a few minutes, she had cleaned all the dishes thoroughly.

Caspian had remained in polite silence the entire time, gazing absently around her room as crumbs scattered and the spoon clinked against the bowl. Now, as she sat back against the wall, suppressing a satisfied sigh, he said, slightly quizzically, "How do you feel?

"Better, thank you. I need only sleep."

"You were - very hungry."

It was a simple statement, and she took it as such. "Very. Thank you for bringing me the food."

He reached out for the tray. "Would you have remained in hunger if I had not?"

Again, a simple question, with no judgemental inflection, yet she felt compelled to avoid his gaze in some embarrassment. "I - I suppose."

"Hm." He settled the tray in his lap, looking down at it thoughtfully. "Did it not occur to you to request any of us to do so? Your brother, maybe?"

_This boy is sensible. I like him._

Senshi ignored Ikraan, instead giving Capian a fleeting glance, but he still did not look up. "He - we have not spoken since two days ago."

"He did visit you, I know that."

"He did." She hesitated. "But I can tell he is - was - hurt, though he tries to hide it. I . . . told him to stay away. It is easier for us both."

"He was hurt because you did not use his blood."

The glance she directed at him was sharp, now, and more intensely embarrassed. He knew that much?

" . . . Yes."

He did not pursue the topic - to her relief - instead asking,"Why not anyone else?"

"I - well, to be honest, it did not cross my mind to ask."

He looked up at that, his steady gaze not allowing her to look away. "Not at all?"

"Not at all . . . May I know why you are questioning me?"

He frowned slightly and looked away. "That is not as it should be . . . " he murmured, ignoring her question. "Senshi - do you feel you are disliked?"

"I - what?"

"Do you feel that the rest of us dislike you?"

That single question made her want nothing more than to avoid this conversation, avoid him, get him out of her room. If she requested him to leave, she was sure he would, at once and with no demur. Yet something (his tone of genuine concern? The way he took care to look away, so that she was more comfortable? The strangeness of the question itself?) impelled her to answer hesitantly.

"Not -" She stopped, took a breath, gathered her courage. "Not dislike. I am - tolerated. O-outcast. Not - involved, not included, not welcome. Courtesy, no warmth."

She cut herself off, wincing at how she sounded. This language was too foreign, she could not express herself with fluency when she was unprepared.

Caspian did not seem to be bothered, despite the fact that his command over it was greater than hers. "I am aware that what I say is unlikely to alter that belief, but you need to know that that is not true."

She looked up sharply, and he met her eyes, now. When she did not speak, he continued, "For one thing, you gained respect from us all when you did what you did for Master Eragon. You came quite close to giving your life for his, and that is no easy feat at all. And . . . I have only been here for three weeks or so, hardly that, but I can see - Senshi, I can see that you feel - alone. That you stand apart. I cannot, surely, presume to know your thoughts and feelings, but I may guess? You will correct me if I am wrong?"

She shrugged slightly, helplessly - it was he who seemed to be in control of the conversation, and she resigned herself to going wherever he planned to reach. He took the gesture as acquiescence.

"You feel unwanted because you feel like a misfit. They all know each other, and are comfortable with each other - even we who came here so recently. Well, Sorya and Këyal are exceptions, but apart from that . . . The matter is compounded by the fact that, though they are all from Alagaësia - with the exception of myself - Kitai settled in faster, which felt like a betrayal, since it is he who had resented being sent here more. Since you two had been so close, too. . . So you withdrew into yourself. You train, you eat, you work, but though you are as much a Rider as any of us, you do not claim to be so. You have convinced yourself that they do not want you, that they see you as inadequate . . . that they whisper and laugh about you when you leave the room. That they are entirely content with this state of affairs, content to keep you out. And you are lonely -"

She raised a hand, and he fell silent at once. It was some moments before she could bring herself to speak.

"I - I do not - I do speak to Ravûn . And Dara, a little, and Osra, on occasion, and to Akhtar and - I am not so - so -" She made a quick gesture, swallowing past the lump in her throat. "As you make me sound."

He opened his mouth to apologize. She forestalled him. "H-however . . . broadly, I would have to say - you are - correct. And you - wish to tell me I am wrong?"

"You are," he said gently. "Their faces change when they speak to you not because they do not like you, but because they are unsure of whom they are speaking to. You have built your walls so thick and so high, they are uncertain of making the attempt. You are certainly respected, and I have no doubt you will be liked once you can rid yourself of this barrier you have created, this thought that you are not wanted and would not be welcome. Certainly, someone who had the courage and strength of mind to do what you did, at such short notice, is not someone likely to be disliked, would you not say? We are entirely willing to accept you, to know more about you, to banish your loneliness." He was leaning forward, now, all earnestness. "Please, give us a chance to do so. I understand that restrictions of the mind are, sometimes, the hardest to overcome, but - we are all Riders. Ten people bearing a burden few can understand, given a duty few would care to undertake. We may - outlive our - our families by a few centuries, and it is possible that we may do so by millenia. We should support each other unreservedly, be each other's family as far as possible. We need you, Senshi, even as you need us. So - for your sake and ours - do not hold yourself back. We're  _waiting_  to welcome you."

Senshi couldn't help snorting at that through her shock at his words, even as she suppressed a rising, ridiculous urge to cry. "Not - not everyone."

Caspian sat back, smiling slightly. "Well, if you expect Sorya, for one, to be eager to be friendly, you will have to wait quite a while. But you know my meaning, yes? Will you - would you try?"

She smiled a little and sniffed, staring down at the sheet clutched in her hands. "After that - intricate -  _eloquent_  speech, how could I refuse? I - I will try. As much as I can. I just - it's - I'm not sure how to -" She gripped the sheet tighter, hating how small her voice sounded, how vulnerable her words were. "You will help me?"

She could hear the warmth in his voice as he replied. "To be sure! You needn't even ask. Thank you for your answer. I - I am aware I may have overstepped some bounds -"

"You didn't. I should be the one thanking you." She met his gaze, managing to blink her tears away. "For your kindness - for taking the - the time to speak to me of this - for the food you brought for me - for your solicitousness this morning, though I was rude, to you and Ravûn - and - and for the strength you lent me, two days before. I am - very grateful."

He got to his feet, smiling. "Truly, you needn't be. I should leave - you need as much rest as you can get. Sleep well."

 _I like him very much indeed,_  Ikraan said quietly.

Senshi hesitated, then said, hastily, "C-Caspian -"

He turned, looking quizzical.

"I - when I learned that Riders are well nigh immortal, I was - very shocked. And when I learned it was almost an expectation that I live and study at the Hall, well - it took me some time to absorb everything, to adjust myself to the ideas, and I came from a home that was - dead, you might say. There was no life and no cheer. My mother was - indifferent, to the both of us. After my father -" She took a deep, steadying breath, and ploughed on. "I am trying to say that - I know that your home was not like that. I know your family was a close one, and I imagine that it must have been far - far harder for you. To leave. To become accustomed to - everything. If, at any time, I can possibly help - in any way -"

She faltered under his surprised gaze. Then he chuckled quietly, sounding somewhat choked. Senshi thought she could see unshed tears glimmering faintly in his eyes.

"Thank you," he said. "Thank you, Senshi. I will remember."

And he was gone with one last, murmured 'Sleep well'.

†

Arya yawned.

She had not slept for the past three days. If anyone had looked into the Head Rider's room at night, they would have seen a slim figure pace quietly up and down the room, silhouetted against the moonlight. Occasionally, she would cross to the bed and lay a careful hand against the forehead of the man who lay there; then once again resume her untiring vigil.

Now, though, she sat cross-legged in a chair and closed her eyes, trying to release her worry. She breathed deeply and deliberately, feeling her ribcage expand . . . and contract. Expand . . . and contract. Expand . . .

Her eyes flicked open an hour later, startlingly bright in the dark. She took a moemnt to gain an awareness of her surroundings, then crossed over to the bed to check on Eragon yet again, berating herself for falling asleep. What if he had awoken?

He looked for all the world as though he was simply sleeping, and indeed, anyone else would think he was. But Arya could discern faint lines of pain around his eyes and mouth, and felt the worry come creeping back.

She sat down on the bed and took his hand in her left one, gently stroking his cheek with her other hand. And the action, though it received no response, calmed her heart somewhat.

She sighed and pressed a light kiss to his forehead

_Wake soon, Eragon. Too many people are too sorely anxious for you to remain like this . . ._

The hand clutched in hers moved.

She drew back, startled, and hoped it had not been her imagination . . . There it was again! And were his eyelids not moving ever so slightly?

Her heart was suddenly beating against her ribs, excited and anxious, and her hand tightened on his, almost unconsciously, as as he slowly opened his eyes.

They were unfocused and hazy, staring blankly at the ceiling. She squeezed his hand, and they quickly darted to her face, recognition coming almost instantly. He smiled tiredly and returned the pressure.

She laid her hand to his cheek once more and quietly asked, "How do you feel?"

"Terrible. Weak." His voice was low and rough. It reminded her of how he had been after the seizures from the wound on his back.

She nodded. "Water?"

He made a faint sound of assent. She lifted the glass to his lips and supported his head as he drank.

"What happened?" he said quietly as she moved the glass away.

She hesitated as she set it down on the table by the bed. "It is - not something you should have to hear at this time. Tomorrow?"

He frowned slightly, but acquiesced, to her relief. She rose, bending to kiss his forehead as she did so.

"You should go back to sleep," she said softly. "Your body has not yet healed fully."

A spark of panic flared in his eyes. "Where are you going?"

She tilted her head. "You wish me to stay?"

"Please."

She nodded, moving back to the chair, but he laid a weak hand on the empty space beside him. She paused for an instant, scanning his face, then tentatively slid under the covers next to him. He sighed softly, wrapping a tight arm around her waist.

Too tight. She frowned a little, raising her head on one elbow to be able to look into his face. He was . . . scared?

"What is the matter, Eragon?"

He met her eyes with difficulty. "Nothing. Can I not wish you to stay with me for some time?"

"It is something more than that. Tell me." She touched his cheek gently with three fingertips, and he sighed again, this time wearily.

"It is nothing."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

He looked away. "I . . . It was only a few nightmares. It is not an important-"

"It must be," she said quietly. "For you to be so disturbed, it must be. Will you not show me? Will you not allow me to help?"

He glanced up at her briefly, and the pain in his eyes shocked her.

"It is not something I would wish upon you, Arya. Even if the experience is secondhand . . ."

She bent her head and kissed him, smoothing one hand through his hair, down his neck. "It will be nothing I cannot handle," she murmured when they broke apart. "Let me share your burden."

He moved closer to her, resting his face against her arm. She slid her other arm about his shoulders and held him, waiting patiently.

Suddenly, without any warning –

She stood next to Eragon in a dank dungeon littered with bones. There were rows of dark figures chained to a wall, all of them hooded, all of them with dark, sticky pools around their feet. One by one, they lifted their weary heads.

Roran, missing an eye.

Katrina, blood sheeting down her face.

Garrow, an arrow embedded in his stomach.

Nasuada, trembling and vomiting.

Orik, covered in burns.

Murtagh, his tongue cut out.

Angela, her face crushed.

So many people . . . they screamed at Eragon as he dashed down the rows, the sound of their furious pain clashing and reverberating from the dank stone, surrounding Ayra, pressing down on her, suffocating her -

_"This is your FAULT!"_

She felt the horror bloom and spread in Eragon's mind like a black frost as he was driven onward by some nameless, irresistible force, helpless to prevent himself from leaving them behind.

They reached the last figure together, panting, shaking, and she saw . . . herself. The hooded wraith raised her head, and in her eyes was no recognition, no joy, no love. Only terror.

Next to her, Eragon reached out a shaking hand, and the shadow-Arya drew away with a mindless shriek of fear.

Another figure loomed up behind her, tall and broad-shouldered, with a dark crown glittering on its head. It raised its bone-white sword and brought it whistling down. Arya, frozen, unable to look away, watched her own head thump to the floor, the sound of Eragon's scream echoing in her ears.

Her eyes snapped open and she sat bolt upright, chest heaving. No nightmare she had ever had - and most no battle she had ever been in - had ever approached the sheer horror concentrated in that single vision. Firnen nudged her anxiously, insistently, but she assuaged his worries with a brief flicker of thought, focusing instead on subduing the clinging fear that still nestled in the corners of her mind.

"Do you understand now?" Eragon asked softly.

She nodded slightly, trying to forget the stench of stale blood, the crunch of bones under her feet.

"Were they . . . all like that?"

"They were. Some . . . worse." The words were carried on the merest whisper.

She lay down once more, forcing her own breathing to slow, and gently pulled him into her arms again, cradling his head. He wrapped his arms around her waist, tighter than before, but she made no mention of it.

Some minutes passed before he whispered, "You - will you stay with me tonight?"

She stroked his hair with a careful hand. "Of course," she replied, as softly. "Sleep, and rest."

He snorted quietly. "Easier said than done." She felt a drop of liquid on her shoulder, then, and realized he was shaking.

Arya hesitated for a moment, then touched his mind, pouring into it as much comfort and affection as she could muster. She could sense Saphira there as well, doing the same.

He met her in the mind as gratefully as he had embraced her before, and here she could help him more effectively. She brushed aside the dark recollections whenever they arose, forming a warm sphere around the core of his being, and gradually she managed to soothe him enough that he drifted into sleep. And even though he slept, she stayed awake for a time, guarding his rest from any nightmares that might dare to attack.

†

Arya woke slowly, rising from her sleep as though it had been as insubstantial as a shadow. Eragon lay next to her, face unlined by the worries of the night. Her mouth softened at the corners as she watched him sleep, a swell of relief growing in her chest. She pressed a careful kiss to his forehead and slid out of the bed, being sure not to wake him as she left the room. She wanted to check on the Riders, ensure that they were continuing with their training, before she informed the others that Eragon had finally woken. But, so that he should not wake alone, she made sure a part of her mind was always in his. He would wake soon in any case – it was an hour past sunrise, and his room faced east. The light would rouse him.

She felt a presence touch her mind as she proceeded down the corridor, and recognized it as Saphira's touch. She opened her mind at once, welcoming her in.

_Good morning, Saph-_

Instantly, a massive flood of -

-  _gratitude affection relief thankfulness -_

\- poured into her. She staggered, shocked by the sheer depth and strength of the emotions. If it had not been a dragon, she would have characterized the tangled swell as tearfulness.

 _Saphira!_ she exclaimed, horrified.

_I - I could not help him during that time. He was unreachable . . . You felt it too, I know, but imagine that it was Firnen, and you could hear everything, feel everything, feel him crumbling, yet remain unable to help -_

_I - I know. I understand._ Arya offered as much comfort as she could muster, reassurance and affection and encouragement in a slowly rising, gentler wave, and was relieved when it was accepted.

_I simply wanted to say - thank you. For everything you did._

_Please, Saphira, it is most unnecessary -_

An odd sensation reached her, as though Saphira had inhaled and sighed heavily.

_Nevertheless . . . I am in your debt._

Arya hesitated, but accepted the statement. Saphira withdrew, leaving behind, in Arya's mind, a curious feeling of deep humility.

She began to walk slowly, glancing absently out of the long row of large arched windows that lined the corridor as she tried to settle her mind. New sunlight streamed through them, illuminating intricate patterns set into the floor. Outside, the pristine forest was draped over rolling hills like an emerald sheet, sparkling with dew. The morning was alive with birdsong, bright and cheerful, and she couldn't help beginning to smile as she listened. It was as though the world glowed, as fresh and clean as a mountain stream.

 _Or perhaps it is that it seems so to me because Eragon has finally woken,_ she mused.

 _I think so,_  Firnen agreed, from the beach, where he was curled around Saphira. Arya smiled, happy that he was content and that he was comforting Saphira.

She went down two flights of staircases and reached the fourth floor, where the clear, sharp sound of metal ringing on metal came from the training room. Osra and Akhtar were at it again; they couldn't seem to stay away from the vast array of weapons the room was provided with for too long. She peered inside, and saw Dara on a bench, swinging her legs back and forth as she watched the two Urgals spar. Ravûn sat next to her, commenting in an undertone on the techniques of fighting. On the far side of the room, Sorya practiced alone with an axe. One of the Eldunarya, a fierce green one called Natani, was commenting on the fight.

_Move faster! Lift your feet, Akhtar! Your bulk is no excuse for clumsiness! You cannot always-_

_That accounts for five of them,_  Arya thought.  _Senshi must be sleeping, and Këyal would be in the library, which leaves three humans to account for._

Caspian came into sight just then, walking briskly in the opposite direction. As he passed her, he smiled a greeting. She noticed, though, that there seemed to be some strain in his eyes. He brushed past her, hurrying into the training room.

Arya frowned slightly. What could have put him out so?

She continued on, hoping the cause of his worry would reveal itself-

\- and so it did. Her sensitive ears caught some sound – the sound of cloth against stone, the sound of skin against skin, and the sound of quiet, breathless murmurs.

She stopped and turned back to the training room. She now knew where they all were, and she had no wish to intrude upon Kitai and Zelíe's privacy.

Settling herself down unobtrusively on a wooden bench, she watched Osra and Akhtar clash. Surprisingly, Akhtar was nearly a match for her . . . but he was brash and lost control far too easily. Besides, Osra had had the advantage of training under Eragon for the past three years.

As she watched Osra take her inevitable triumph, her blood quickened. How long had it been since she had had a good match with someone? Years. Her life now seemed to consist solely of diplomacy, interminable meetings, endless rounds of discussion after which some minor change to dull policy would be made. She stretched restlessly, tapping her fingers on her thigh as she followed the dance of the two blades, blue and brown.

Murtagh walked in some minutes later, simply dressed in black pants and a white, full-sleeved shirt. A ruby glittered in his belt, which supported Zar'roc. He leaned on the doorframe for a few moments, watching Osra and Akhtar start their rematch. His eyes then roved around the room, noting what each person was doing. When his eyes met Arya's, he smiled and nodded politely.

She smiled in return, considering, then rose from the bench.

"Murtagh!" Her call, though not especially loud, carried through the room, causing most everyone to look over.

Murtagh raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Would you spar with me for a time?"

Murtagh blinked in surprise, then smiled. "Surely, if you so wish. I should warn you, though, you will not easily best me." He pulled Zar'roc out of its sheath and twirled it once. "I have kept in practice."

She drew Támerlein, easily testing its balance. "Consider me warned."

 _Teach him some humility, my princess,_  came a whisper from the back of her mind.

She laughed out loud.  _And how do you feel on this fine morning, Eragon?_

She felt him smile.  _Wonderful. Now, do wipe that insolent smirk off of my brother's face._

_As you command!_

Arya laughed again and sprinted forward, blade at the ready. Whether it was due to her imagination, or simply an aftereffect of an excess of relief, she neither knew nor cared - all she knew was that the new day was bright and full of beautiful promise.

And she was grateful.

†

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a fan of that last paragraph. Ah well, hopefully something better will strike me later.


	10. Antisocial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A leavetaking, and an argument in the night that leads to discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: My sincere apologies for the terrible delay - I had this written ages ago, but I forgot to upload it here. It's taking so damn long to revise! It's like running a marathon through a swamp. And going through my old writing is not fun. Not fun at all. I had different plans for these characters when I wrote the chapters the first time, and rewriting them is so weird, because I'm shifting the story onto a pretty different track. It makes me feel like what I write now isn't satisfactory, like it doesn't capture either what I wanted to convey then nor what I want to convey now. Ugh.
> 
> Sigh. Please enjoy, kind reader, and my thanks to those still reading.

 

_Several days later_

Eragon pulled Murtagh into a tight hug. "Visit again soon, yes? And try to bring Roran with you the next time."

Murtagh stepped back after a long moment, lips quirking up. "Of course. Take care of yourself – and these children. Don't get yourself poisoned again."

"I'll try not to," Eragon smiled in return.

"I'm serious, brother." Murtagh placed his hands firmly on Eragon's shoulders, gaze steady. "You still have enemies out there. Stay wary."

"You as well. May good fortune attend you, and may the stars watch over you."

"And you."

They grasped forearms warmly for a moment, and Eragon then turned to Nasuada.

"I agree with Murtagh," she said, raising an eyebrow with a smile. "Be sure to keep well, Eragon. I do expect you to outlive me long enough to fade into the mists of legend."

He laughed. "I will, I will. At the very least, I certainly plan to stay alive long enough to see Selena become queen."

Her eyes softened as she reached up to kiss his forehead. He hugged her, and she returned the embrace.

"Farewell, Eragon. We shall return as soon as may be . . . Good fortune rule over you."

"Good fortune rule over you," he replied softly, watching her walk away.

_Saphira, they're leaving . . ._

_I know, I know . . ._

Saphira nudged Selena towards her parents. The little girl started to turn back, but Saphira snorted, ruffling her curls with hot air, and she reluctantly went to her mother, Eragon giving her a hug and a kiss on the cheek on the way. Nasuada tossed her up to Murtagh, who was already in the saddle, and climbed up after her.

Saphira then moved to talk with Thorn one last time, and Eragon turned to Arya, who stood by Firnen, a slight twist to her lips. Without a word, he moved to embrace her, and she returned it fiercely.

"You will tell me if the dreams get worse?"

"I will."

"If there is anything that might be worrying you, anything at all?"

"Of course."

"Even if it is interrupting me in my duties, I -"

"Arya,' he said, soft enough that no one else would hear.

Her fingers clenched in the back of his shirt, then relaxed, and she stepped away.

"I can't help but worry," she said, as softly.

"I know. But I will be well enough." He hesitated, then pressed a quick, fleeting kiss to her cheek, trying to swallow his sorrow and longing.

Her eyes drifted closed for one brief moment, and she sighed, soft as a breeze over grass. "I . . . will scry you every week."

"I will be waiting. Stay safe, and may good fortune watch over you."

"I love you."

He took a quiet, shuddering breath. "And I you."

She smiled painfully, touching his cheek fleetingly before turning to mount Firnen. Eragon knew she would not look back, yet he could not bear to look away as she settled gracefully into the saddle.

Thorn and Firnen spread their wings, bright sails against the clear sky, and Eragon tried to swallow the lump in his throat as he watched his family about to depart for the second time. Selena, only secured on Thorn's swaying back by Nasuada's strong arm around her waist, waved both hands frantically.

" 'Bye, Uncle Eh-ah-gohn! 'Bye!" she yelled down, as loudly as she could, the thunder of incipient dragonflight nearly drowning the words out. Eragon waved back, and tears were in his eyes, unashamedly, as they rose higher, higher, lifting up and away into the empty blue.

He felt a warm hand on his arm when they were nothing more but twinkling sparks, and looked down into Dara's dark, kind eyes.

"Come inside, Master," she said gently.

He nodded, wiping at his eyes hastily, and followed her.

†

_Ten hours later_

Dara sank down on her bed with a sigh. The day had been . . . sad. And the air of longing heartache around Master Eragon that refused to be dispelled, no matter how much he strove to smile it away, had been oddly draining for everyone. By evening, there was no one - apart from the elves - who had not seemed eager to retire and rest.

It was a day, she thought, she should certainly make a note of. Yet the thought of sitting and trying to capture every wayward reflection in lines of charcoal seemed unusually exhausting at that moment. She pulled her notebook towards her and flipped through it instead, quickly moving past the crowded scribbles of words in the ancient language and hasty notes from  _tuatha du orothim_.

_\- the most spectacular battle between -_

She paused as the words caught her eye, and turned a few pages back.

_We were lucky enough to witness the most spectacular battle between King Consort Murtagh and Queen Arya this morning! He could not match her speed entirely, but he held his own incredibly well, even managing to push her back a few times. I wonder if I'll ever be so skilled with a blade? Or indeed, with any weapon. I certainly hope so!_

_Her ebullience this morning confused me, for I'd never seen her so carefree, but we learned the reason for it when Master Eragon walked in for the midday meal. He didn't look very well - his skin was far too pale, his cheeks were sunken, and darker shadows than any I've seen ringed his eyes. He was able to walk fairly well, though, which I think is an achievement in itself, given how close he seemed to death a few days ago. As I said before, truly a horrifying prospect, having the hero of_ Alagaësia  _himself - and the promise of our education as Riders - snatched away before our eyes. Or would Queen Arya have abdicated to teach us? Well, he is well now, so that is not a possibility any longer, thank goodness. No offence meant to Queen Arya._

_Queen Nasuada and the King Consort were as worried as Queen Arya, if not more so, which surprised me. I had assumed they knew each other fairly well, and of course he was her vassal during the war, but I had not suspected such a strong bond. I'm quite eager to hear in detail about the trials they all underwent together - Osra informed me that Master will relate to us his entire journey, 'from farm boy to Kingkiller', as she put it._

_Mistress Saphira was almost exuberant, if that word can really be said to apply to a dragon - today, she corkscrewed through the air while doing a barrel roll_ while diving _. Her joy seemed to to infect the others, and they were all wind-dancing the entire afternoon. Celestè and the other three – Lifaen, Corinne, and Jethran - were quite jealous when Mánya replicated Mistress Saphira's feat. Hah,_ Palé _tried and ended up crashing into the sea._

 _Oh, Senshi came down today as well, looking nearly as exhausted as Master Eragon. It was good to see her up and about. We were all glad - except one person, of course. It was_ intensely  _irritating to see his uncaring demeanour - he seems as if he'd hardly be bothered if we were all skewered by a Shade at the best of times, but today he was just - agh. Would it honestly have been so hard to show a hint of gladness? Just a hint? I swear, if he intends to act so throughout my time at the Hall, we are going to end up at blows, and if that does indeed happen, I am sure I'll be doing my best to kill him. He's really_ that  _infuriating._

Dara smiled wryly - how indignant she'd been. The next mention of Këyal after that had been . . . She flipped through the pages, through nearly two weeks, occasional snippets catching her eye.

_\- Senshi is actually talking more! Whatever Caspian said, it -_

_\- Akhtar's grip on his axe slipped and it smashed a window -_

_\- and Master is still weak. Zae-elda taught us today, about history and -_

_\- Ahh, I was late to class today, it was -_

_\- I had an argument of sorts with Këyal -_

_Ah, there._ She turned a few pages back and began to read.

_Well, I'm not sure how to describe what happened today. I'm not entirely sure what exactly did happen, in fact._

_To start at the beginning . . . well, for the past several days many of us have made our opinion of K_ ë _yal's indifference to Master Eragon almost dying quite clear - almost too clear, in some cases. I never thought it had any effect upon him, however, for he seemed to ignore all veiled remarks with his customary calm. Yet today, when_ _Zelíe_ _muttered something to Ravûn (something about stone-hearted creatures who were better off alone, I didn't quite catch it but that was the gist) he actually turned and glared at them. It was as though - well, as though a crack had appeared in his usual facade. I am not sure how else to describe it._

 _Unfortunately that spurred the both of them -_ _Zelíe_ _especially - to glare right back in challenge. It was nought but a rat's wink before they were all trading insults, hers shouted progressively louder, Ravûn's snapped out like a whip, and K_ ë _yal's said with all the smoothness of a slithering snake. No one seemed willing to do anything, so I - well, I stepped in, tried to keep the piece._

 _A monumentally ill-thought out decision, now that I think on it, but at the time it was an impulsive action. I told Rav_ û _n and Zelíe to cease eating his head off about the matter, for they had no authority over him and it was ill-natured, to say the least (ahh, I was so nervous, I still don't know how I managed to say that without my voice shaking!). I think, if it had been anyone else, I would have gotten a sharp earful, but one of Zelíe's most admirable qualities is her honesty. She huffed in a rather furious way, but she nodded and sat back down, and_ _Ravûn_ _is a just person as well, even if he seems to rub against_ _Këyal_ _more than almost anyone else. So I suppose it did work, in a way?_

_But when I turned to speak to_ _Këyal_ _as well - I was thinking of something along the lines of 'Master Eragon still deserves your respect, even if you dislike him, and it is disrespectful to behave so when he was so close to death', because they did have some excuse for feeling frustrated, given the way he's been, and it wouldn't be fair to ignore that aspect of the issue - perhaps the intention showed in my face, for he snapped at me before I could open my mouth. It was cruel, what he said . . . something about how he hated living with all of us, incompetents that we are, that as soon as he completed his time at the Hall he would make sure never to see us again (a ridiculous claim, unless he plans to leave Alaga_ _ë_ _sia entirely) and other such things._

_I don't remember precisely what he said, however, because he pressed his mind against mine as he spoke (in truth, he was indeed so close to losing control) and though there was a roiling mass of anger and resentment and frustration, though I was terrified as to what he might do and what his mind actually was (I can still hear the music haunting the darkest parts of his consciousness, it refuses to be forgotten in a way that is very unsettling), I noticed that there was no feeling or thought to support what he was actually saying. No disgust or offended superiority, nothing that expressed the opinion that all races apart from elves are unworthy of being Riders and all the rest of it._

_It intrigued me, to say the least, even in the midst of my fear. I am still intrigued. Why do his thoughts and the attitudes he expresses differ so, especially given the conviction with which he expresses them?  
_ _And yes, here is where Celesté is saying that I'm too curious for my own good, and perhaps that's true, but how can I help not being curious about the only elf I thought might be able to help me learn more about my heritage from my mother's side? Well . . . I suppose it doesn't matter. I can hardly go up to him and ask him about this, can I?_

_I don't see why not._

Dara turned from the page to look at Celesté, who was curled up comfortably on one side of the bed.

_Right, because he would answer me willingly?_

_He would not, but you are no rabbit that you must needs cower from a creature with a sharp beak - or, in this case, a sharp tongue._

_I am not_ cowering _! And it is not that all he possesses is a sharp tongue._

Celesté opened one eye to give her a distinctly unimpressed look.  _If you are truly implying that he would go so far as to harm you -_

_Would he not? I heard that at Illirea, when Queen Islanzadí fell, the elves went so mad with grief and anger that -_

_That is on a battlefield. Here he is one person, amongst many older ones of his own kind who will have no hesitation in punishing him severely for the crime of harming a fellow Rider. And don't even say - yes, I see the thought biting at your tongue. Even you cannot possibly imagine that he would ever go to the extent of killing you - supposing he truly does hate you - if you merely question him. For one, he controls himself quite rigorously even in his anger for one so young, as you can deduce from the fact that the others have told you he has rarely lost his composure over the past three years, and even now he snapped only after two weeks of constant, vicious remarks muttered in his hearing. For another, he knows full well what it would do to me to have you dead, and the other elves know as well or better. The only thing that would stop them from executing him on the spot would be their consideration of how it would harm Layla. Still , they would visit some quite painful punishment upon him, and he would be sure to be expelled from the Hall. In short, your worries are groundless. It is only a visceral, fearful response to the memory of his strength that is holding you back._

_. . . As you say. It is an irrational fear, my heart-partner – rational arguments cannot counter it with much efficiency._

Celesté's eye closed with a  _snick_. Her tail snaked around, and, before Dara could even attempt to move, it slipped under her and flipped her off the bed.

Dara hit the ground with a thud, wincing as her knees slammed into the hard floor.

_What was that for?!_

_Go._

Dara gaped at her.  _What?_

_Go. Right now._

_I can't -_

_Dara._

_He'll -_

_Dara._

_I don't even know where -_

_Southernmost terrace. I can smell Layla from here._

_How do you know he's with her?_

_If he isn't, you can ask her where he is._

Dara groaned, getting to her feet slowly.  _Why must you make me do this now?_

_Because if you don't you'll continue to dither about this for the next few days and I have no desire to listen to anything further on the subject._

Dara scowled at her, making sure to slam the door on her way out.

†

Këyal rested his forehead against Layla's scales, curled into the hollow where her chest met her foreleg, and tried to convince himself the despondency he was feeling was entirely temporary.

He wasn't sure he was succeeding.

It hadn't been too hard, at first, with only three others. They had accepted his tendency to be aloof after a while, and the process had certainly been hastened by the attitude he had assumed towards them and to Master Eragon. Even after Kitai and Senshi had appeared things had not changed by much, for Senshi had kept to herself as far as possible, like a snail cowering inside its shell, and Kitai had learned from the others fairly quickly. They hadn't bothered him - in fact, they had taken pains to remove themselves from his vicinity as much as possible, which made it easier for him. And so the years had passed.

Then the others had come, and everything had changed.

Akhtar had given Osra someone to spar with, to berate, to talk to about the home and culture she had left behind; he had become a trustworthy friend to Zelíe; he had given Ravûn and Kitai a companion to laugh with. Caspian stepped into the last role as well, so that the four of them were now fast friends, and he had even persuaded Senshi to try emerging from her shell. Dara danced between them all, light on her feet and cheer in her smile, binding them all closer than they had been before. It was only Sorya who avoided them all like the plague, far more rigorously than he had ever done.

Këyal tipped his head back to rest against Layla's steadily heaving chest, closing his eyes. Of them all, Dara's presence was by far the worst. He'd hardly been able to believe it when he understood that she was half-elf, half-human, and oh, he was so, so curious. Would she live as long as any other elf? Did she have the same magical prowess? Would she agree with the principles he and his kin lived by? Did she sing, did she dance as freely as everyone back home had done? What had her life been like, in a human settlement?

They were living in the very same building, and he had to act as though he utterly despised her, because -

_A hard grip on his wrist, furious green eyes, but the voice was calm and unshakable. Imrys's voice never rose, never changed, but she could convey more shades of emotion with the slightest of modulations than most people_ _Këyal_ _knew._

" _It is fortunate beyond belief that an egg hatched for you, that you are to be involved in the rebuilding of the Riders. You can work from within to purify them."_

_He met her gaze as best he could, trying in vain to suppress the pang of fearful deference that shot through him every time she deigned to speak to him. "Purify them, Aunt?"_

" _Weed out the unworthy," she said, eyes still burning, unwavering, yet the voice flat and cold._

" _I - when you say weed out -"_

" _I am not asking you to kill them, child, do not look so frightened. But there are things you can do, young as you are, yes . . . work harder, be better, prove to them all that elves and only elves are worthy of being Riders. Overshadow them, throw their failing and instabilities into relief, so that when the time comes to decide whether Shadeslayer made a mistake, the answer should undoubtedly be yes. Other elven Riders will surely assist you, but you can make a start. Yes. Tthe kin of the ones who tore apart our family, you can begin the process of ruining them . . ."_

" _B-but Aunt, was it not Formora who was responsible for the death of -"_

" _She was led astray by that evil, unholy Black King! They all were! If humans had never been included in the bond, such an outcome would never have occurred!"_

_Këyal understood, now, why Vanir had taken such pains to keep him apart from Imrys in the years since their parents had perished. He had begun to realize, over the past few years, but understanding of the full extent of her madness burst upon him in its entirety at that moment, with her furious grip on his wrist and her eyes boring into his._

" _Ah, that is a danger, yes," she said quietly, almost in a hiss. "I had not anticipated your susceptibility. Very well, then, before you go, you will make me this promise. You will associate with unworthy Riders as little as you can possibly manage without impairing your studies."_

" _I - but -"_

" _Do you understand?"_

" _Aunt -"_

" _Do you understand!" And her voice had risen into a shriek, and he had been so cowed -_

" _I - I do."_

" _Then say it."_

" _I will . . . I will associate with unworthy Riders as little as I can manage without impairing my studies."_

" _Good." The hand was withdrawn, the eyes now gleaming with a dreadful satisfaction. "And you will remember your mission, will you not?"_

Këyal thudded his forehead gently against Layla's leg. Oh, he remembered, and a more hateful, ridiculous - discredit all Riders who were not elven, when they would now be three quarters of all Riders? Associate only with other elves? How was he ever supposed to fulfill his duty as a Rider if this vow bound him? The most noble of callings, one he had been looking forward to fulfilling with such eagerness, and because he had been too much of a coward, too unsure of himself to refuse Imrys, he was trapped forever in this -

And the worst part, he thought savagely, quite possibly the worst part, was that he could have had a second chance. Had he distanced himself till now of his own volition, the coming of the new students would have given him a chance to try to be one of them. Akhtar and Caspian were friendly and unprejudiced, and he was certain they would have welcomed the opportunity to befriend him. And Dara, she had seemed even more curious about him than he was about her, and she had used every opportunity to approach him and speak to him, eager and cheerful; he had had to rebuff her repeatedly, more harshly each time, and seeing her face fall every single time until she finally gave up trying had left a horrible taste in his mouth.

He had thought, initially, that her elven ancestry might mitigate the conditions of the vow - but he had soon realised that instead it strengthened them. Imrys would certainly include a half-elven Rider who tarnished the powerful lineage of Yaela, one of the most accomplished spellcasters in elven history, with human blood, among the strictest definition of unworthy.

And so he was alone, save Layla. No one to sing with, to dance with, even to simply talk with, and it would remain that way for the foreseeable future, all because he had been such a  _fool_ -

"Këyal?"

Layla, who had been stirring uneasily in her sleep due to his despondent thoughts, now woke fully at his shock of surprise. He turned to face the door, realizing as he did so who it must be. The voice was lilting and bright, and considering that he hadn't heard footsteps that would have alerted him to someone approaching . . .

_I am not going to enjoy this._

"Dara," he said coolly, wiping his face clear of any emotion.

"Good evening." He could see the hesitancy in her smile, even from this distance.

He got to his feet easily, keeping his gaze steady on her face. "Am I needed somewhere?"

"Ah? Uh . . . No . . ."

"Do you then require something of me?"

"I - in a way -"

"I would appreciate it if you would make it fast, then. I do not wish to waste my time waiting for you to stop stammering."

To his mild surprise, she did not scowl or recoil. Instead, her eyes narrowed speculatively.

"As you'll have it. I have only a single question for you."

"And that is?"

She shifted into the ancient language, then, tripping a little on the smooth syllables. "Do you truly believe in th' attitudes you express?"

His brows drew together, and he did not have to try too hard to feign the sharpness in his voice. "What do you mean by that?"

"Everything you seem to imply with yer every word and action - that elves are th' superior race and th' only race worthy of being Riders. Your contempt for th' rest of us. Do you truly believe that?"

_What? Why is she asking me this? How could she know -_

Layla spoke then, cutting through his shocked confusion.  _I did tell you you should not have used your mind against her. That loss of control then has led to this._

He cursed to himself, mind racing.

" _Why do you ask me this?_ " he said, in an arrogant, clearly irritated tone he knew she would perceive as flawless. " _Is it not evident to you that I do?_ "

_There, that should work -_

Dara tilted her head a little, like a child trying to decipher a puzzle, a small smile Këyal found far too disquieting playing about her mouth. " _You must ha' learned how to weave half-truths and - what is the word? - evasions, in your cradle. I did not, but I am not too dull to notice you haven't answered my question. I'd very much like either a yes or a no, please._ "

He stared at her in disbelief, trying to tamp down a rising surge of frustration.

" _Who are you,_ " he said deliberately, glaring at her, " _to question my motives and attitudes? I was not aware that I had to answer to a halfblood for my actions._ "

Her smile faded instantly, a flash of hurt appearing in her eyes.

" _That is all you think of me as?_ "

" _Is there any more to you I should take into consideration? I do not see it._ "

He groaned silently as she set her jaw.  _Why must you make me do this, why cannot you take me answers and leave thinking me a selfish, unfeeling boor, why must you push me until -_

" _Answer my question, Këyal._ "

" _I am under no obligation to do so._ "

"Why d'you refuse?"

_\- until I have no choice but to -_

He would say this in the old tongue, it would have more impact if she believed that  _he_  believed what he was implying.

" _As I said, I have no wish to explain my actions to a halfblood - and a nosy one, at that. I do not know why you harbour doubt as to the authenticity of my attitude, but rest assured it is not lightly assumed, for my amusement. Is that what you thought? Did you think I would rile every person around me for no reason but to watch them fume? For years on end?"_

"No - I -"

" _Well, whatever be the idiotic reasoning, I have no wish to hear it. Kindly do not pester me with such nonsense again._ "

"Just who d'you think you are," she snapped, losing all composure. "Acting like th' king of this place, when in reality you're -"

Këyal felt a pulse of attention, of quick anticipation from Layla, but despite that she was just a shade too late to do anything more than slow the tide of anger and hot shame that rose within him - and that only cooled it, solidified it, turned into a sharp blade of furious determination.

_I know exactly what I am, don't you dare - I will not hear you say it!_

He strode forward, mouth set. Dara looked first startled in her anger, then alarmed, and then frightened, looking up at him with wide eyes as he let his the fingertips of his left hand rest gently on the skin of her throat, exerting a pressure that was just shy of insistent.

He could hear her heart pounding against her ribs, and could not help taking a perverse pleasure in how well he was executing his vow.

_This is what you wanted, Aunt? Well, this is what I am doing. I am the most hated person here. Have I made you proud?_

Këyal smiled as sweetly as he could manage, looking directly into her eyes.

"In reality I am what?"

She swallowed, and said nothing.

He pressed down very slightly. "I would be . . . appreciative if you would refrain from questioning me further - about this or anything else. Do I make myself clear?"

She nodded, moving her head as little as possible.

"Good," he said quietly, dropping the smile. "I would not want to have to tell you again."

He did not move for a moment more, making sure that the threat, the menace, had been adequately conveyed - then he moved away and turned on his heel, not bothering to look back when he heard the muted sound of her shoes on the floor as she fled.

 _She was convinced_ , Layla said quietly.

Këyal laughed weakly, putting one hand to his head. He felt as though something precious, something he hadn't known he had needed, had been extracted from his body painfully and mercilessly.  _Why would she not be? I have surprised even myself with how consummate an actor I am._

_Këyal . . ._

_I will come to the room later_ , he said abruptly, turning away from her and beginning to run. Where to, he did not know - he simply ran. Across the terrace, up the first staircase he saw, spiraling around and around, higher and higher until he burst onto the ledge at the top of the slim tower.

He sank down, chest heaving, and leaned back against the cool stone, closing his eyes against the threat of building tears. The cool wind curled around his face and through his hair, carrying the promise of the monsoon to come in the scent of fresh earth and crushed leaves. Ordinarily it would have calmed him within moments, but now he was so full of - shame and rage and longing and self-loathing and hurt and - and distress, the way she had looked at him had been - he hadn't meant to scare her too badly, had he gone too far? Had that been a mistake?

Had he forever lost any chance of ever becoming close to anyone at all?

 _Like I had a chance anyway_ , he thought viciously, wiping his tears away.

The moments trickled by, and by consciously forcing each muscle in his body to relax as he gazed steadily at the stars, Këyal did eventually manage to calm himself to a certain extent.

 _I should be used to this by now_ , he thought, resting his knees on his chin.  _It is simply inescapable. I need to accept it once more. Just because there are now people present who invite friendship, I can't change the situation I'm in . . ._

If he could, though, he knew Dara would be one of the first people he would like to befriend. She was kind, and cheerful, and fair, and he was entirely sure that her visit to him was prompted by equal amounts of genuine concern as well as curiosity. She would make a good Rider, the kind of Rider the people adored, like Avelyn the Benevolent, or Rhistel the Charitable . . .

He shook his head firmly. There was no point in thinking like that, for there was no way he could -

His heart clenched, soft and quick, like a quiet gasp of shock.

_Wait. I just . . . what did I just - I just thought that Dara would make a good Rider._

A tendril of questioning thought made its presence felt in the back of his mind.  _Why is that significant?_

 _Because . . ._ his mind raced.  _Because! Oh! Oh, how could I have not seen this before? Fool, fool that I am! Moonling, brainless, blockhead that I am!_

 _Oh!_  Layla was as surprised, her joy beginning to sing over his.  _We were so focused on Imrys's definition of 'worthy' -_

_\- that we never even thought -_

_\- but it is your definition that matters, not hers -_

_\- and so I can go and hug every damn person in the Hall right now if I want to! Because they work so hard and they train so much -_

_\- they are all certainly worthy Riders in your eyes -_

_\- and so the vow no longer binds me!_  Këyal leapt to his feet, giddy, heedless of the sheer drop before him.  _Oh, if I had only realized this earlier! Years of seclusion, of estrangement, and all it took was - ah, I cannot believe - halfwit, dolt, jackass -_

Layla's joyous roar echoed up to him, and he cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled back as loud as he could, euphoria filling him like a drug.

He was  _free_. Finally free!

And the very first thing he would do on the morrow was find Dara and apologise and explain; and then he would apologise and explain to everyone else, and even if they made him grovel on his knees for forgiveness he would do it without a second thought. For all he wanted was to put the hate in his past behind him as fast as possible, and never look back at it again.


	11. Almost Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the night before, and connections begin to blossom. A choice is presented.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dara's pattern of speech is something I thought would be nice to add, given that she's from a rural area in the north (I picture her with a vaguely Irish accent, now). Gives her a bit of character, eh? But I'll probably be rather inaccurate with it, so feel free to correct me.  
>   
> Enjoy!

_A few days later_

Kitai nudged the heavy door of the armoury open with his hip, taking care to balance the heavy stack of bows in his arms. He huffed in annoyance as he felt the coil of bowstring looped around his shoulder begin to slip down, and shrugged it back up. It was then that he registered voices inside, and he sighed, preparing to call out and request assistance.

When he saw who it was, though, surprise killed the words on his lips in surprise. Këyal sat opposite to Osra, both with heavy war axes in their laps and whetstones in their heads were bent towards each other in quiet conversation.

Since when do these two even talk . . ?

Osra glanced his way just then, and raised a politely enquiring eyebrow. Këyal turned, and when he saw who it was he placed his axe on the floor and moved to Kitai's side, lifting half the bows from his arms with an easy grace.

"Ah . . . thank you," Kitai managed to say, somewhat disoriented.

"They are quite heavy," Këyal murmured, his voice quiet and musical, his steps smooth and light as he went to place the bows in their place. "I hope you did not have to carry them too far?"

"Oh, no, only from the target range." Kitai followed him, glancing at Osra. "You two are attending to the axes?"

"Every last one of them," Osra said, looking distinctly disgruntled. "And with no magic."

"Why, did you do something to anger Master?" Kitai asked over his shoulder, shooting her a teasing look.

She snorted. "We need a reminder of what lacking magic feels like, he says."

"Well, perhaps we do then."

Këyal snorted softly, setting the last bow in place, his lips pursed in mild discontent. Kitai gave him an amused look, which, when he noticed, caused him to look down and away with colouring cheeks. It was such an incongruous action for someone he was more used to seeing in a position of command and disdain, that he could not refrain from clapping him softly on the shoulder as he passed.

"Well then, I'll leave you to it," he called, grinning at Këyal's surprised expression. "Enjoy yourselves."

Osra lowered her head for a brief instant, the sharp points of her horns pointing in his direction for the briefest moment - a serious warning by any standards, most of all by Urgal standards, but Kitai knew she meant it in jest.

"We will meet at the midday meal, yes?" Këyal called after him. Kitai replied in the affirmative, giving him a quick smile before he slipped out of the door.

Well, that was unusual, to say the least . . . I have an hour or so to spare - to the library, or to the training room? The former seems like the better, there is that essay due -

"Kitai!"

He turned to see Eragon gesturing some way behind him. "It is a good thing I happened across you, will you come with me for a few minutes?"

"Oh, yes. Is anything the matter?"

"Not precisely, I simply wished to obtain your opinion upon a certain matter. My study is a suitable place to speak, yes?"

"Oh, certainly!"

"You will not touch anything this time, Kitai, I see that grin."

"You wound me, Master, with your lack of faith in my integrity, my -"

Eragon gave him a light cuff to the back of the head. "Spare me the soliloquies, you've no more integrity than a rascal fox."

"Now that truly was uncalled for!"

"You are fully aware you deserve it." Eragon gave him an amused look as he pushed open his study door. "Come in."

Eragon's private study was a large, circular room, lined with hundreds of scrolls and books arranged in neat rows. In the center was a handsome desk with various pigeon holes for quills, charcoal, wax, paper and ink. His seal - a dragon, of course - was accorded pride of place in a square, velvet lined hole, the top of which fit so seamlessly into the surface of the desk that the contours of the lid of the box were indiscernible. Two cane chairs stood in front of the desk, and a heavier chair stood behind it. A ladder on wheels led to a movable balcony that could be moved around the circumference on the room so that once one had entered it, one could access any scroll on any level just by moving the balcony by means of a simple pulley mechanism. The outside was carved in a myriad of patterns, and it was lined so that it was comfortable to sit and read in. An Erisdar dangled from the delicate arch curving over it; it resembled nothing more than an airy nest.

Kitai gave it an appreciative, rather wistful glance, which Eragon caught immediately.

"No, you are not touching it again. I still cannot fathom how you nearly managed to break it with nothing more than five minutes to yourself with it."

"Ah, Master, at least allow me to look over it once more! I could make so many little - what do you say, puzzles? Contraptions? - if only I knew how it worked -"

"My answer is a firm and unequivocal no, Kitai. Be seated, please."

He sighed and complied, crossing his legs and settling down to wait. Eragon frowned slightly for a moment, seemingly gathering his thoughts as he fiddled with a quill. Then he began, "I assume you know exactly how I was poisoned – and by whom. You may have some idea as to the reason behind as well, I hope."

Kitai frowned slightly, taking his time to reply. "How, yes. By whom . . . perhaps. Why, I can only guess."

"I would like to hear it. You and Senshi told me, when you came, that your people were at first quite understandably apprehensive about the dragons, and thereafter decided to leave us well enough alone, with the only precaution being illusionary barriers to prevent us from approaching them - which explains why I have never seen a village or town of yours, though I have flown many leagues north and east with Saphira. This makes it seem to me unlikely that any of them would be responsible for the attack upon myself. Senshi repeated to me later what she told Orik, Orrin, and Nar, Garzhvog, and I would like to know your opinion on how likely her theory is."

"I would say . . . very likely indeed. I do not know, of course, the entire reach of the old empire, but to me - I can believe that it was them far easier than I can believe it was the Chorih. After the war, we hunted them like the rats they were. They scattered, they hid, their clan is nothing, has been nothing for some years. If indeed there are any left, if they were responsible, they would require an overpowering reason, incentive, and they would require a daakyir with the knowledge of Vilta. It is very precise, very meticulous to make, and all instructions relating to it have been burned. Then, too, they would need to overcome the sacred - the law, the edict -"

"Your crown issued an edict that we were not to be approached?"

"The crown did not, Lidéna did."

"Ah . . ." Eragon leaned back in his chair. "I see. That is the guise in which Dellanir dwells in your land, if I remember aright."

"As you say. The goddess of the hunt has three forms; as a deer, to represent the chase; as a wolf, to represent the pounce; and as a fleet, stern huntress, to represent the kill. Lidéna is the last. To speak the truth, I doubt Dellanir intended to be perceived as such an image, as such a manifestation. I suspect she only accepted that which we assumed her to portray . . . and considering that she is among the most venerated of our gods, since much of our way of life depends upon the hunt, it would be unthinkable for any, especially the Chorih, to disobey her word. Thus it is most likely that it was someone else, someone who knows precisely what the Riders are and who would not be bound by what she says. All indicates that your enemy is from Alagaësia. And they must have some considerable power as well, as the Chorih would not sell their last weapon easily."

"Hmm. Then we must begin to search for them . . . Is it possible they live in your kingdom?"

"It . . . may be possible, but I doubt it is probable."  
"It is a possibility we cannot eliminate. Can you provide me with an estimate of the total population living to the north?"

"Well, given the five major clans and ten smaller ones, as well as certain others . . . how would you estimate the dwarven population?"

"I suppose at some nine hundred thousand, if I were to make a rough guess."

"And the human population?"

"After the war? Perhaps twice or thrice that."

"Then I will say we have thrice that again. Nine millions, give or take perhaps a few hundred thousand."

Eragon's eyes opened wide for a brief moment. Kitai gave him a wry smile. "Not an easy task to find your enemies, I would imagine."

"No . . . What surprises me is how nine million people living in one forest have managed to conceal themselves so well, be the forest ever so dense."

"Well, as you told me, the land is nearly equal to Alagaësia in terms of area, and we have some experience with protecting ourselves from foreign eyes."

"I see . . . well, my thanks for your assistance. There is only one more matter I would like to clarify before I let you return to your duties."

Kitai inclined his head in answer. "Of course."

"Yourself and Senshi have remained to study here because - in your own words - there was no bright prospect left for you at home, and so why not learn something of a different land; why not understand and learn to use the abilities you had been granted? I admit, I too may have emphasized the importance of a matched dragon and Rider a tad overmuch to persuade you to stay. Now, however, you have resided here for two years, and there is not much left for you to study. After that, you will help the four who have so recently arrived learn. And once their education, too, is concluded . . . what do your sister and yourself intend to do?"

Kitai blinked at him, a quiet dismay gathering in his mind. It was not that the question had not presented itself to him before, but he had not expected Eragon himself to pose it so soon.

What do I intend to do? What may Senshi intend to do?

"I . . ." The answer was heavy on his tongue, heavy with uncertainty and apprehension. "I do not know, Master."

Eragon's gaze was contemplative. "Then you must think on it, and decide sooner rather than later. You may have less time than you imagine."

†

_A week later_

Layla hovered high in the air, above the ocean, poised perfectly between two dark, billowing clouds. The moisture in the air made it a little tricky to maintain her position, but having spent more than three years in this climate ensured that she maintained the delicate balance with ease; with, in fact, hardly a flicker of conscious thought.

Some way below her, Saphira- _ebrithil_  supervised Palé and Ikraan as they put into practice what she had taught them on extended gliding. Above them, Layla's sisters-by-breeding put the other young ones through their paces in the midst of the treacherous high altitude winds. Jethran had joined them, Layla noted approvingly catching the flash of his blue scales in between Corinne's white and Lifaen's green. He took initiative, that one. Still, it was unfair to leave him to her sisters' supervision alone - she would return in a minute or two.

Eragon- _ebrithil_  and Saphira- _ebrithil_  had found that it was by far too confusing to commence the newcomers' training while yet the older students had not completed their own. Each had their own learning pace, their own skills and weaknesses and difficulties, and while that was evened to some extent by tuatha du orothim it had been decided that all ten dragons and Riders would complete their training in its entirety before the next eggs were sent out, that the confusion would not occur again. Of course, this forced the older students to remain at the Hall even after their own education was complete, given their three year head start; but it could not be helped, and by assisting the  _ebrithilar_  in teaching they would not only put their knowledge to good use but ensure that the younger ones complete their own training far faster.

Thus it was the four first-hatched dragons of the new generation were conducting class for the four youngest, while Saphira- _ebrithil_  took the opportunity to polish the skills of the middle-born-brothers. They had discovered that the system that suited them best was for each to teach what she was most proficient at, while the others watched, assisted, and commented. Today, it was Drëya teaching the younglings how to escape dangerous weather, one of the most important lessons a dragon must needs learn, which she excelled at because of her small, strong frame.

It was not easy to learn, however - when the break-bone-wind had you in its grip and frost was cooling your scales as you were tossed ever higher into the unseeing, uncaring hard-sparkling-sky, it was no mean feat to keep calm and remember lessons taught. So for today's lesson alone, the younglings were being given individual attention. It was lucky that Jethran was a quick study, allowing Layla to take a moment or two to simply enjoy the weather.

She swung her tail around, circling to face east, and breathed as deeply as she could manage. The cold-sharp-rain was on its way - even the winds up here carried the faintest scent of overturned clay, and towering clouds were massing quickly, being driven west and south, oceanwards, by furious gales. The first monsoon storm she'd seen was still clear in her memory, one of the only things that had ever managed to scare her. The storms were nothing like the light showers that marked spring melting into summer - these roared the end of summer with no mercy, and would not dissipate until spring came around once more.

The two-legs made the best of it, transporting as much water as they could manage to a row of massive barrels stored underground, which was then used for everything from bathing to cooking to cleaning. Any excess went to the Garden in the dry months, the pure water allowing the plants to thrive. If there was still more, the elves insisted that it be poured into the ground to conserve the balance of the water table.

A mundane use, she thought, flicking her tail contemptuously. The storms were for sport, of course, nothing else. She and Mánya tended to make a game of it, of who could conquer the dangerous drafts and avoid the lightning better. Drëya hardly ever joined them, but when she did, she beat them both with ease. None of them dared fly in a really furious hurricane, though. There was recklessness, and then there was utter idiocy. Besides, Saphira-ebrithil would not hesitate to snap a good foot off their tails for attempting anything so foolhardly.

She pivoted on one wing easily, spiraling upwards to dodge neatly between two slims wisps of cloud. Këyal was watching from the back of her mind, and the quiet jolt of muted pride she felt from him augmented her content even further, causing her to hum, loud and melodious. He had been truly happy this week, happier than he had been in a long time, and that in itself was enough to keep delight glowing in her belly for days on end.

It had not come easy, of course. He'd had to apologize to the half-elf-girl first, and that had taken a measure of courage he had been hard put to collect, even given his own determination and her encouragement. But he'd managed to get himself assigned to Garden duty at the same time as she, and so had been able to approach her with no fear of any of the others intruding.

Layla called the memory up with ease as she snapped lazily at a startled hawk, allowing it to fill her mind entirely. It was still clear, unblurred by time, despite the fact that it was from several days before.

_"You require something of me?" the girl said coolly, hands tapping against her leg anxiously but her gaze resolute. All details Layla herself would hardly notice, but through Këyal's eyes they became unnaturally apparent._

_He took a deep breath, attempting to settle his nerves. Not that the girl knew it, of course - to her, he looked much as he always did, Layla was ready to swear, composed as always._

Layla, that really is not a very helpful thought.

_She sent him a wave of apologetic reassurance, and it helped, if only a little._

_Këyal returned the gesture with a quick flash of gratitude, and faced the girl._

_"Dara, I wanted to apologize for my utterly inexcusable behaviour, the previous evening. I was unmannered, cruel, and exceptionally rude, and I regret my actions more than I can convey. I am aware that you have no reason to hear me out, but I do have reason enough for what I did, and if nothing else I owe you an explanation. I would beg that you allow me to do convey it to you."_

_He twisted his hand over his chest, and bowed._

It was well said.

I - hope so, but will she - ?

_There was silence from the girl, and as Këyal remained bent at the waist neither he nor Layla could see her expression, could attempt to guess how she might have taken his words._

_It seemed an age, both to him and to her, before she spoke._

_"Why?" she said, soft and hurt, and Këyal straightened to see her mouth twisted painfully. "I am but a halfbreed, am I not? Why is it that you deem me worthy of such an apology?"_

_"But you are not!" he exclaimed, taking a step forward without thinking. "You are not, that is not how I think of you, how I see you at all! Dara, I cannot tell you how sorry I am that I - will you please allow me to tell you why I said what I did? You need never speak to me again, if you so wish, afterwards, but I could not reconcile it with my conscience if you did not know - if you believed I was simply - unfeeling, cruel - "_

_He faltered to a halt, anxiety coursing through him like a river, and even Layla could not do much to stem it. She only hoped the outburst would not cement the girl's view of her heart-partner as volatile, unpredictable, not to be trusted._

_But she smiled a little, and laughed quietly, the sound trembling at the edges but true enough._

_"At th' very least, that sounded more sincere than did your prerehearsed apology," she said, one eyebrow quirking. She moved to a stone bench placed nearby, seated herself with the queer grace natural only to creatures of magic, and tilted her head slightly._

_"I'll hold you to your word, Këyal. I agree to hear your explanation, but I give you fair warning - I'm hardly predisposed to listen kindly, and I'll not hesitate to avoid speaking to you at all in future."_

_"Understood," he said instantly, relief blooming in his mind like a flower of light. "I cannot tell you how grateful I am for this chance, Dara, I - "_

_"And," she said, as though he had not spoken, "We will converse only in the ancient language. I'll hear no tricks of speech. What you have to say to me, you'll say it straight and true."_

She has steel in her, this one, Layla noted.

That she does.

_". . . Understood." Këyal said, more quietly, seating himself beside her. "Then, this was my reason - "_

She had listened well, asking a few questions, but ultimately taking in all Këyal said in silence. When he had managed to finish - for it had been a hard struggle, describing out loud and in the old tongue the poisonous secret that had eaten away at him for so long - she had waited only a moment before laying a hand on his, all animosity and distrust in her eyes washed away by a warm blaze of compassion.

"Thank you for trusting me wi' that," she had said gently. "I know it could not have been easy. I understand, and you're forgiven. And, if you will have me, I will lay claim to the title of your first friend here."

The words had been simple enough, but in themselves had nearly caused Këyal to sob on her shoulder - and that was no exaggeration. The first kind words he had heard from a fellow Rider - had been allowed to accept from a fellow Rider - of course they would strike home, particularly to one such as Këyal, very much a quiet creature of light and music and warmth.

He had managed to restrain himself, however, had managed to force the tears back and grasp her hand firmly in return, managed to say 'Thank you' with only the faintest hint of a tremor in his voice. She had smiled in a way that hinted that she saw right through him, and had pulled him to his feet with a laugh, declaring that they would go and find his second and third friends that very day.

Layla snorted softly, the icy air burning her nose. She had not been pleased with the fact that the girl had forced Këyal to repeat the same, very personal secret to the younger-not-a-Kull Urgal and the curly-haired-bright-smiled human the very same day - for it had travelled from them to most everyone else, as she had known it would - but, well, Këyal was undoubtedly happier, and his softer emotions were undoubtedly changing her perceptions of the girl, making them kinder and more forgiving. It was altogether more difficult to remain miffed.

Far below, Jethran was tugged into a helpless, uncontrolled spin by a sudden draft which sent him hurtling down towards the ocean. Layla huffed and tipped into a steep dive, wind beginning to howl past her, as she headed back to resume her duties.

_Honestly, can he not remain unscathed for a bare quarter of an hour?_

But the deep content settled in her chest made it harder than she would have liked to be irritable, and she let out a quietly joyous roar as she sped downwards, the hope for a happier future infecting her from her partner making the world seem, all at once, brighter and more beautiful.

†

_That evening_

"Ahh, not you too."

Caspian woke with a start at the unexpected voice, the scent of grass heavy in his nostrils. He blinked, squinting up at the sky, and a dark face came into focus.

"Oh, Senshi. Good evening. Apologies, I must have dropped off to sleep . . ."

"Aye, you were sleeping like a child when I arrived," she said, sitting next to him and crossing her legs. "And that was some quarter of an hour before now."

He sat up, yawning. "Is it very late?"

She tilted her head quizzically. "Late for what?"

"I meant, is it - has the day advanced considerably? Is it close to night?"

"Oh." She looked to the side, a little embarrassed. "Yes, the sun just set. I am surprised you did not hear us coming."

Yes, I've been told I fly unnaturally loudly, Ikraan said drily. A good sleep, youngling?

"Very, thank you," Caspian grinned, reaching out to give him a rub on his dark snout. He hummed, ruffling her hair with a puff of hot breath, and nudged his side. He grinned, obligingly scratching the scales under his chin, until a thought occurred to him.

"Senshi, you were saying something when I woke up, were you not?"

She looked over at him blankly for a moment before realization dawned in her eyes. "Oh, that. No, I was just -" She huffed softly. "Every Rider comes up here sooner or later."

"Is that a bad thing? Should not everyone enjoy the beauty of this place?"

For it was truly a lovely place, this clifftop. Situated at a point where the coast curved towards the sea, and ocean was all that could be seen for the most part. If one looked back to the northwest, one would see the Hall nestled glowing against the rich green of the forest like some small, exquisitely crafted toy castle. To the north, that same forest lapped at the back of the range of chalk cliffs. On this, the tallest one, the massive banyan tree stood stark against the sky, unencumbered by any competing trees and surrounded only by soft grass. It was quiet, this place, and peaceful; all that was to be heard was the distant crash of waves and faint cries and calls of the animals in the forest. The calm was somehow magnetic, somehow anchoring.

Yet Senshi sighed. "I suppose. Only, it was mine at first. The others, who had been here longer, they knew of it but they never came much. It was only after I began to come more often that they decided to do the same."

"Exasperating indeed."

"In truth it was, do not laugh! And now you all come too. It has an - an aura? An atmosphere? - that is easily destroyed by careless action. I do not like to think of too many people here."

"Is that so? And yet I've heard that they come here mostly to meditate, unlike -" He gestured deprecatingly towards himself. "Myself, who came in search of a good place to nap. I doubt they make much noise in that endeavour."

Her brow creased as though she was attempting to decide between amusement and exasperation. "It may be as you say, but -"

He hummed, wagging a finger under her nose. "No buts. You've some other reason for wanting us gone from here, is it not so? Yes, do not attempt to deny it, for I see all and know all. You can hide naught from me. Keep your secret; I shall ferret it out sooner or later!"

She did laugh at that, a quietly musical sound. "Are you always so chirpy when you first wake?"

He leaned back on his hands, crossing his legs at the ankles as he grinned back. "Indeed I am."

She shook her head, and for a minute or so there was a comfortable silence between them.

"How . . . are you finding the classes?" she asked eventually. Her fingers tugged absently at a clump of grass, steadily uprooting it.

He glanced at her hand, raising an eyebrow. "And here I thought you'd lost all reason to be apprehensive around me. I'm very disappointed, Senshi."

She threw the clump at him, spattering him with dirt. "Will you just - I am attempting to make conversation!"

"Alright, alright," he chuckled, brushing the blades of grass out of his hair. "They are good. Better than I imagined. When they told me what a Rider was, I thought it would be very upright, very stiff; but it's interesting, to say the least. And I'm learning how to fight! I have always wanted to learn to fight. The library is wonderful as well, and there are so many things I am learning about - well, everything. Did you know that in mountains, and the summits, you can find seashells? Just like the ones we find on the beach! There was this one Rider, and she flew to the Beors just to -"

The stars were nearly out in full force by the time he ran out of things to say, yet Senshi remained attentive the entire time, drinking his words in silently. A good listener, he thought, finally letting his voice die out. A better one than me.

She smiled as he stretched out. "You can talk for a long time, I see."

He felt the tips of his ears begin to heat. "I hope I did not bore you?"

"Not at all. There are not many who are willing to shoulder the entire burden of speaking themselves. It is . . . nice to be allowed to sit quiet and only listen for once."

"Why, then I am glad I could oblige you. And since we are speaking of the matter, how goes the rebuilding?"

"The - ?"

He waved an impatient hand. "Friends. Connections. Talking. All that."

"Oh. Oh, yes. Um, well enough."

"Details, if you'd please, milady."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Well enough, as I said. Akhtar helps me train with the axe. Dara teaches me slang, and talks almost as much as you, and she expects me to do the same. She is kind, and exhausting, but I think in a nice way. With Ravûn things are much the same, we have always been good friends. Osra has decided my Urgal tongue needs more work, and she tutors me. Sorya . . . passed me a quiver once, I think that is good?"

"Undisputable progress, for her."

"And I have - I talk to Kitai once again, though things are rather strained. Oh, Këyal, he - he offered to help with my duty in the Garden a few days ago, he said he had finished his own early. We did not talk too much, but what we did I was surprised to find pleasant." She smiled, startlingly bright in the fading dusk. "He said we were both on similar journeys, and from what Dara told me I could not help but agree. It is good to see him smile truly, for once."

"That it is. And what of Zelíe?"

The look she directed towards him was just sharp enough to be uncomfortable.

"We are the same," she said slowly, brushing an errant curl behind one ear. "We are cordial enough."

"You do not like her."

"I do not find much to like." She gazed at him steadily. "For you, that does not hold true, I think?"

Caspian opened his mouth and shut it after a second. By his side, Lifaen snorted softly.

"You can be . . . quite direct when you so wish, I see," he said trying to gain some composure.

She only shrugged, her amber gaze never wavering from his face. "I hesitate to say this, but your emotions are wasted."

"Oh, I know." He looked down at the grass by his feet. "Truly, I know. We cannot help who we love, though, can we?"

He heard a soft sigh. "That we cannot," she murmured.

"The most powerful magic in the world, so the poets say, and we can do nothing to control it." He swallowed, trying to smother the waver in his voice. "A shame, no?"

She caught it, however, for she reached out and tugged lightly at the lobe of his left ear - a gesture of affection peculiar to her. "Forget this. To speak of such matters we need wine, and we have none. We will meditate for a time, and then return. Yes?"

He chuckled. "As you say. Then, the day when we do have wine, we shall return to this, and all our worries will be like dust in the wind."

She inclined her head, reflecting his smile. "I look forward to it."

And so they meditated, listening to the birds and the beetles and the fish in the sea, and the wind that thereafter swept across the hilltop, swirling around the still figures of two dragons and two humans, was warm enough to be the breath of the promise they made.


	12. Storm and Desperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Attempted flight goes awry, and concealed emotions break and spill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, after this, I've to get back to rewriting this behemoth of a fic. I'll get it done as soon as I can!

 

" . . . and thus I wounded him with his own horn!" Akhtar chuckled, the persistent drum of rain a constant background to the loud rumble of his voice.

"I wasn't aware you had participated in th' Games, Aki," Dara said, looking quizzical.  
"It seemed a good challenge," he said, large teeth gleaming in a pleased grin. "A year of preparation on my part, and I do not think I performed too badly."

"Your rank?"

"Third."

"Ah, that's wonderful! I watched the Games once, and the skill I witnessed was nothin' short of incredible. It was mesmerizing to watch . . . who were th' others that placed within the first five?"

"The others? I will recall . . . Ah, an elf from Ceris, flamehaired and quick with a spear - she came first. Maena or some such was her name. Following her was a dwarf from Dûrgrimst Feldûnost, of all the clans; then it was I, and after -"

Këyal looked up at that, hands stilling in his lap. The long leaves he had been weaving together drooped a little, still fresh and green. He spoke quietly, evidently hesitant. "I beg pardon, Ahktar, did you say - did I hear you say the name Maera?"

Akhtar shifted his heavy gaze to Këyal's face. "That was the name. An acquaintance of yours?"

"A dear friend. I've known her since we both were nought but striplings." Some memory made the corner of his mouth twitch slightly before he spoke again. "You say she won the Games last year?"

"Aye, so she did."

Këyal hesitated, eyes flickering from Akhtar to Dara, who gave him a small smile, encouraging.

"Would you tell me - how? I mean - in which events she excelled, in which she struggled -"

Akhtar looked at him a moment longer, considering, before inclining his head a little. "As I recall, it was the melée that she had struggled with, while in the athletic events, she had outstripped most other competitors by a wide margin. And as I said, she had been flawless with the spear. None bested her, and upon occasion it was nearly impossible to follow the path of the blade as she wielded it . . ."

His voice rose and fell almost in tandem with the thunder outside as he talked. The conversation soon drifted into his own exploits, how well he competed and what he wished he could have done better. Dara's suppressed smiles settled in her eyes as laughter as she watched the two of them, Këyal drinking in the words eagerly and Akhtar gesturing more and more expansively as he got more involved in his story.

It was quite some time later that Këyal asked, "And that is how you touched Jethran's egg?"

"Aye, those in the first ten positions have that privilege - though the Rider Runners would bring the eggs to my home either way."

"The feeling is . . . quite indescribable, isn't it? When they hatch."

Këyal's face softened, but Akhtar's became a little pinched, though he smiled in return. "More so for me, I think."

"Why so?"

He shrugged, his large shoulders making the movement seem incongruous. "After the War, the Urgalgra are left with no fields, no money, fewer warriors. The Lady Nightstalker gives us land, and peace, but we need time and patience to rebuild. Many did not have it - and given the lives they lived, I cannot blame them. But my family is old, with many warriors of prestige, many Kull, much respect. I myself am one of a few of my clan to have gutted a cave bear. To represent the Urgalgra at the Games, to help erode the prejudices against us, they were happy if I would do, further because I was to give the prize money to those who needed it - but to become a Rider, the only hope for many to escape blighted lives, blighted homes, when my family provided for my every need, when I had no lack of prospective mates, was not fair to them . . . and I agreed with them. I do still."

Jethran snorted softly, nudging his blue snout closer. Akhtar smiled a little and patted his head., his tone subdued as he continued. "This I understood the moment I saw the first crack appear in Jethran's egg. Thus, indescribable feelings."

"I see," Këyal said, something quiet and a little sad in his eyes. "My sympathy."

Akhtar inclined his heavy head, bright, brief light-patterns gleaming on his large horns as lightning flashed outside.

Dara frowned, her mouth sharper than usual. "Do they not understand it's the dragon tha' chooses the Rider? Did they -"

Thunder crashed outside, much louder than before, and she flinched as she whirled around. It died away with a grumble, and she turned back to see Këyal pressing his lips together while Akhtar gave her an amused look.

"Yes?" she said, trying to sound dangerous.

"Nothing," Këyal said easily.

"You have somethin' to say, Aki?"

There was something like a twinkle in his deep set eyes. "Afraid of thunder, Little Cat?"

Red flooded her cheeks. "I am not!"

Këyal coughed quietly. Dara's gaze swung around to bore into him, but before she could say anything, Akhtar got to his feet, stretching out with a chuckle.

"As you say. 'Twas a pleasant evening, but I must work with the bow for an hour before the evening meal. My thanks for your company, Bloodblade, Little Cat."

He smiled and bowed, and as he turned away he caught Këyal's eye for a long moment. Këyal blinked in surprised pleasure at the friendliness evident in his gaze, cheeks growing just a little heated.

Akhtar nodded once, as though something significant had been decided, and strode away. Jethran followed him, his heavy footsteps shaking soil loose from flower beds nearby.

Dara's eyes were bright on him, and when he wrinkled his nose at her she only shrugged, smile not abating in the slightest.

"He's one of th' best people I've met," she said, quiet and a little thoughtful. "In my life, I think."

"Is that so?" Këyal gave her an inquiring look. "You were not . . ."

"Not?"

"I do not know, frightened? Angry? Given your proximity to the Spine and humanity's history with the Urgalgra in general . . ."

"Ah." Her mouth twisted a little. "So I was, and I regret it. He was far more generous to me than I deserved."

Këyal hummed in acknowledgement, watching her tug her hair loose and begin to retie it.

"But watchin' him with Caspian soon made me realise what a fool I was actin', and when I was ready to attempt to reach out, he was more than willing to accept." She pulled her hair tight, and tilted her head slightly. "A trait that serves you well, yes?"

"Yes," he replied softly. "A trait I am grateful for."

The drum of the rain had grown louder as they talked. The wind was rising, and lightning flashed once, twice, thrice, painting the walls stark white. When Dara suggested they leave, Këyal acquiesced readily. They had only just stepped into the main corridor when the thunder came, crashing like the mountains were coming down.

Dara jumped, shoulders shooting up around her ears, and Këyal could easily make out a pattern of goosebumps rippling up her neck. He made a quiet sound of amusement, and Dara turned on him, face red and eyes flashing.

"Not a  _word_  from you, Këyal."

"I wouldn't dream of it - Little Cat."

" _Don't call me that!"_

"You do not think it suits you? A cat afraid of loud noises -"

"Stop talkin', or I swear to all the gods I'll find what you're afraid of and put it in your bed -"

Some minutes later and two floors above, Celesté was roused by the image of Këyal ducking out of the way of a badly thrown shoe that had just left her RIder's hand.  _Two-legs,_ she grumbled to herself, sinking back into sleep with a snort

†

_Later that night -_

Sorya tugged hard on the last leather strap, and then pulled on the saddlebags, making sure they were secure. Not as many as she would have liked - certainly not enough for the flight to Galfní - but it was all she had been able to collect, and they could not afford to wait any longer.

She swung into Corinne's saddle, quickly running her hands over the saddlebags, ensuring nothing had been left out. Bedding, waterskin, sword, some money - all seemed to be in place.

_We're ready. Let us leave._

Corinne didn't move.  _Sorya, for the last time, will you listen -_

Sorya's brows drew together, hands stilling in the process of tightening the straps around her legs.  _I refuse to repeat this argument with you. Let us not waste any more time._

The hard tone of her thoughts was enough testament to her determination. Corinne attempted no further expostulation, but took her own time unfurling her white wings, her displeasure evident.

Sorya understood, but they had no choice. If they delayed for another day, perhaps two, they might still have enough time to complete the journey - but it was risky at best, and this was something she could take no chances with. She understood Corinne's uncertainty in her ability to fly such a distance, especially given the weather, she truly did understand the danger; but they had delayed week after week simply because Corinne had said she needed more tuition if they were to have any chance of succeeding.

 _Precious useful tuition, with Alagaësia's Hero nearly dying._  She tugged on the strap so hard it almost snapped in her hand. They had stalled for nothing. Had they left earlier, they could have used any of the numerous doors and terraces the Hall was abundantly furnished with. There had been enough and more opportunity, given the worry over the Shadeslayer. Now they had no choice but to leave in this storm, and through the Tower, for Corinne was sure that it would help her avoid the many dangerous downdrafts the storm would have caused over the ocean. And Helzvog only knew if the Shadeslayer had placed any wards on Tower that might warn him if any but him attempted to open it, or if it opened at all -

Corinne shifted in place, and Sorya just had enough time to tighten her hold on the saddle before she leapt up, wings straining as she strove for height. Rows of doors, corridors and rain-streaked windows flashed by, and all too soon the curved stone top of the Tower loomed up before them. Sorya drew in a deep breath, raising her arm. ' _Ládrin,'_ she murmured. A white nimbus began to pulse around her outstretched hand, blinding in the gloom, and the dome split smoothly down the middle, grinding back into the walls. Sorya released the magic as soon as there was enough space for Corinne to pass through, and winced at the chill in her fingers - it was greater than she had expected. Their journey was too long for her to expend too much energy this early.

They shot out into the howling night, the wind strong enough to make Corinne falter in her course for a brief, terrifying instant. She righted herself with an effort, and then they were pressing forward through the storm, the ocean crashing fretfully below them. Sorya tugged the hood of her cloak down as low as it would go and crouched in the saddle, her face inches from dull-sparkling white scales.

 _Pursuit?_  Corinne asked, and Sorya twisted back to look. No roars of anger, no tongues of flame, no massive blue dragon in pursuit.

_We're safe._

Corinne gave her a flicker of acknowledgement before turning her mind back to battling the sky. Sorya looked forward once more, wiping her face with a sodden sleeve, body taut as a tight bowstring.

It became easier once Corinne caught a stream blowing west - it was by no means steady, but good enough for their purposes. It was a low storm, thankfully, and they could fly above it, in between grumbling behemoths of cloud and the occasional sparkle of a quickly obscured star. The minutes passed, and the tension began to drain out of Sorya. For the first time, it was more than dogged determination keeping her on this path - conviction began to bloom quietly, telling her they truly could make it.

It was only five minutes later that she picked up on Corinne's growing uneasiness.

 _What is it?_ she asked, alert upon the instant.

_The air is strange, it's making my scales itch. I think we should drop a little lower._

Sorya sat up straight, staring uselessly into the dark surrounding them. _You will lose the current._

 _I'd rather get tired than get roasted by lightning, Sorya._ The thought was snapped and curt.

_Are you -_

She broke off at the sharp spike of alarm, hastily clutching the saddle when Corinne's head swung around to look behind them.

_We're being followed, I think -_

Sorya slewed around, eyes straining as her heart began to beat in her throat.  _Where? Where? Who is it?_

_There -_

It was nearly impossible to see, but for a fraction of a moment Sorya caught sight of a dark, winged shape hanging behind them, silhouetted against a billowing cloud. Just as it vanished, a consciousness pressed against her mind insistently.

_Sorya? What do you think you're doing?!_

The panicked worry was sharp enough to taste bitter under her tongue, and the words were harsh enough to bounce off the inside of her skull. She gritted her teeth and clutched at her head.  _Curse and thrice blast you, dammit -_

_Turn back, and for the love of all the gods drop lower! Are you trying to kill yourse-_

With an immense effort of will, she managed to block him out.

_It's Ravûn and Drëya - Corinne, faster! They'll catch us!_

She received no reply, but she could feel Corinne's muscles strain harder as they went into a gentle dive, their speed almost doubling. No longer did she take care to avoid drafts and blocks of cloud - she pierced through regardless.

Ravûn continued to hammer on her shields, however, and Corinne was struggling to keep Drëya out as well. It was of no use to wish now she'd paid more attention to mindblocking in the few lessons Shadeslayer had managed to conduct, or that she'd practiced on her own like she'd promised herself she would. All she could do was act. In a moment, she was behind Corinne's shields as well, taking them over and simultaneously providing her with access to as much of her energy as she could spare. Corinne took it, burned it, and they shot forward even faster. The wind was like knives on Sorya's cheeks, and there was no longer any question of even attempting to keep her eyes open.

He slammed into her mind again and again, more powerful than she expected, but determination kept her walls high and strong. She could not afford to fail, not now, and her visceral hatred for the feeling of the intrusive touch of another in her mind gave her some significant measure of strength.

They swerved between two clouds and plunged into the storm again, rain lashing at them like whips. Still Sorya kept her focus, still she gave Corinne her energy - still she hoped they would outrun the unwelcome pursuers - but then there flashed a faint gleam rippling across dark scales, and Drëya swooped past almost directly in Corinne's course.

Corinne rolled, clumsy in her haste, forcing Sorya to clutch at the slick leather of the saddle with a gasp. In that very moment, though, a shock of alarm sang through Corinne's mind, and Sorya felt every hair on her body stand on end.

Corinne dived instantly, though she was upside down in the air. The shock of the movement, the way they dropped like a stone, took Sorya by surprise.

She slipped, her weight working against her, snapping the straps around her legs.

She slipped, and she fell, face turned to the hungry clouds.

She heard Corinne's roar, felt her dive almost straight down to reach her. She felt her desperate frustration when Drëya, not realizing what had happened, strove to block her again. She heard her roaring, screaming at Drëya.

The wind seemed to skin her fingertips. Her hair lashed across her face, heavy with water. She saw the lightning strike, she saw both dragons manage to avoid it.

When she closed her eyes, she could have been weightless if not for the howl in her ears. Tears pressed against her eyelids before being whipped away into the sky - tears of anger, terror, or helplessness, she did not know.

_Sorya!_

Corinne's howl echoed in her head, but she could do nothing. She was falling too far, too fast, she had given Corinne too much of her strength to stop herself. She didn't even have the energy to scream, or to flail, and as that realization stole into her mind Corinne's anguish cried out to her, broken and piercing.

_I can make it! I can -_

_You're too far . . . neither you or Drëya can reach me in time._

_You will just let me watch you die, then?!_

Sorya opened her eyes briefly, looking up at the small white shape speeding towards her. A black figure dove parallel and faster to her course, but Sorya didn't spare it a glance. Her muffled sob was almost a laugh, and it vibrated in her chest, inaudible under the wind.

_At least the last thing I see will be you . . ._

_**Sorya -** _

Her name was a shriek, accompanied by a keen that reached her even through the distance and the storm. It nearly ripped her heart in two, but she closed her mind along with her eyes. Corinne should not need to feel her fear along with her own.

For there was fear, even though her limbs were nothing but cold lead, and it pierced weakly through the exhaustion. But more than fear was frustration, helpless and damning. She tried, she had always tried her best, but even this mission had only been a success for all of half an hour. How could she have hoped to protect the ones close to her when she couldn't even reach them? And how could she hope to protect them when she had convinced Corinne to make this attempt, overruled her protests, and now forced her to witness that which a dragon must never be forced to witness - the death of her Rider?

"I'm sorry," she whispered to the sky, into blackness. "I did not treat you as I ought to have done."

She could not hear her own words, only their vibration in her throat as they escaped into the storm. Well . . . perhaps it would not hurt. Perhaps she would not feel much. And, if nothing else . . . she would be free of the chains that bound her.

The roar of the ocean was growing louder every moment, loud enough that it seemed to her she would drown in the sound itself. It could not be much longer before she hit the water -

She yelped and her eyes flew open as she jerked to a sudden halt; even the motion of her head snapping back was halted midway. Above her she could see that Drëya continued to dive, though slower than before, and she could faintly make out Ravûn's outstretched arm. Corinne was behind them, but had not abated her pace in the slightest. Sorya herself was suspended hardly no distance above the water, for her back was being soaked by the tops of the largest waves.

She hardly had a moment to comprehend this before Ravûn's arm dropped, and she fell into the ocean with a gasp. Cold swallowed her as she thrashed blindly, but she was only under for a few seconds before a huge paw slipped under her, scooping her out of the water.

Sorya crouched down, clinging to Drëya's toes,and coughed hard and long, clearing her lungs and blinking away the stinging salt. Shivering, on the verge of tears, and too exhausted to even attempt to organize the thoughts in her clouded mind, she closed her eyes once more and slipped into welcoming, velvet darkness.

†

Sorya began to regain consciousness just as they reached the Hall. It was difficult to stay awake, however, and she only regained her faculties in entirety when Drëya unceremoniously allowed her to drop on the cold flagstones of a courtyard in the Gardens. She shook her head, her long hair a heavy weight on her neck, and slowly pushed herself up to look around.

Corinne was crouched a little way away, sides heaving and muzzle flecked with froth. Her eyes were half lidded and her wings were limp and trembling.

_. . . Corinne? Are you alright?_

There was no reply.

_Can't you hear me? Are you hurt? Corinne -_

She did not look up, did not even acknowledge Sorya's attempts to contact her, and that, more than anything before, caused guilty misery to curl around Sorya's heart.

Drëya was in rather better condition, but Sorya could see at a glance that it was solely due to anger. Her dark eyes glittered as she hissed, sharp and vicious, and her fangs flashed in the gloom as he mind forced itself against Sorya's.

 _Disgraceful, insufferable excuse for a Rider, what madness possessed you, how did you_ dare  _-_

Sorya was not certain whether she cried out against it, but she crouched like a rat in its hole in a futile attempt to combat the furious barrage. But it was cut off abruptly as Drëya's head swung around, and Sorya caught sight of a figure unfolding next to Drëya, miniscule beside her bulk.

It was Ravûn rising to his feet, with one hand on his dragon for support. His head hung down, and he was panting heavily. Drëya nuzzled into him carefully, helping him up. He gave her a weak smile, yet when his eyes fixed on Sorya there was no trace of warmth in them.

"Will you light the Erisdar, please, Sorya?" The whisper was hoarse, hardly heard above the wind outside.

Avoiding his gaze, she muttered, " _Be bright_ ," and the Erisdar nearby glowed briefly, changing from red to warm yellow.

"My thanks." He drew himself up, and though she could see the tremors fatigue had left in his limbs he stood straight as a soldier. "You will now provide me with an explanation of why you were flying in that hellstorm."

She glanced up without thinking and looked away instantly, ice prickling up her spine. He was almost unrecognizable, his eyes of flint and his mouth pressed together furiously. Gone was the cheery, unruffled  _knurlan_  she had become accustomed to seeing - this was someone utterly unyielding, making no attempt to hide the fact that he was just barely restraining a tide of fury.

Exhausted, ashamed, frightened, and thoroughly overwrought, she made the mistake of snapping at him. "Will I so? I was not aware it was any of your concern."

"Given that Drëya and I just saved you and Corinne from meeting your deaths out there, I will tell you without hesitation that it is very much our concern."

She stood to stand her ground, lifting her chin defiantly. "Whether you saved us from anything at all is entirely debatable. All you did was meddle in our business."

His jaw clenched tight as he took a step forward. "The response of a child, Sorya. Heedless you may be; contrary you may be; but you are not a fool. You owe us this much. You owe  _me_  this, for saving you from drowning at the cost of half my own energy. Explain yourself."

She folded her arms, pursing her trembling mouth against rising tears. "I will not."

"Do not force me to rouse Master Eragon at this hour of the night, me where you were going!"

"I will not, and you cannot force me! Neither he nor you can force me to do so!"

The words had hardly left her mouth before he was striding towards her, eyes blazing. He swung an arm back, and she flinched away from the promised blow; but when it came, it was not to her body. He pierced past her mental shields in an instant, taking advantage of her momentary disorientation, and flooded her mind with his own.

Sorya let out a sound between a howl and a scream, falling to one knee as she clutched at her head. A little way off, Corinne whimpered faintly. There was remorse in his mind for the pain he was causing Corinne, but none for her - and no hint of faltering in his resolve. Ravûn dug onwards, deeper, and she pressed her face into the cool cobblestones, fighting back. But trying to get him out was as though she was trying to cut out her own tongue, and soon enough - sooner than she would have liked - she had to give up trying. She could only watch him go through every shameful secret she held while she curled on the floor, tears finally streaming down her cheeks.

When he reached the end, an eternity later, he stumbled back from her like he'd been stung, panting fast and harsh. When she managed to look up, he was staring down at her with pain etched in every line of his face.

 _He knows,_ she thought, sick with despair.  _He knows everything._

"I -" He took a breath, shaking his head. "Sorya, I -"

" _Ravûn!_ "

The both turned at the shout to see Eragon hurrying towards them, a cloak thrown hastily over his nightclothes and his hair in disarray. Brisingr was naked in his hand, gleaming purple in the yellow light. Saphira followed at a more sedate pace, but she scented the air continuously, seeking threats from any quarter.

"Sorya? Are you two - what has occurred?"

Sorya pressed a hand to her mouth hard, swallowing her sobs, and began to get to her feet once more. An abrupt burst of relief reached her from Corinne, as the worst of her aches and sprains began to be relieved. Eragon was healing her - and presumably the other two as well - without waiting for an answer.

One of her wards - almost the oldest one she could remember erecting, years ago - flared to life at the back of her mind, warning her that foreign magic was attempting to influence her. It drained even more energy from her depleted stores, and she shuddered at the further chill in her limbs.

"Stop," she croaked, every word a heavy weight on her tongue. "My wards . . . are active."

Eragon's brow furrowed further. "You have erected -? Dismiss them, then, so that I may heal you."

"I have . . . no injuries -"

"Sorya." His tone brooked no argument. "Lower your wards, please."

She wanted to remain staunch, to refuse, but she  _was_  exhausted -

_And your pride has caused us enough trouble. Do not remain a resentful child._

She winced, but complied. At the very least, Corinne was communicating with her once more, cold as her tone might be. Besides, what more had she to lose?

Eragon's palm glowed briefly as he gave her enough energy to still her tremors and gentle her breathing, and she was suddenly warm and dry as well - all the water vanished from her clothes and body.

"My thanks," she muttered, testing her balance.

He raised an eyebrow, and smiled a little, though confusion and worry were still writ large on his face. "You are very welcome. Ravûn, you are well?"

"Well enough, Master. I - apologize, but -" He lowered his voice, but Sorya could still hear him. "We may discuss this tomorrow? I do not think now is the right time."

Eragon looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "As you say. Get your rest then, both of you. We will discuss this immediately after the morning meal on the morrow."

His eyes were sharp on them all as they began to proceed down the appropriate pathway. Sorya stalked past him with as much dignity as she could muster. She would deal with the new witness to her shame later; all she could care for now was her dragon.

She slowed as she got closer, still tentative as to how much she was allowed to push. Corinne made no move to prevent her careful touch, but did not react either. Sorya took a deep breath, swallowing the pang of pain in her chest, and opened her mind more fully.

_Corinne . . .?_

Corinne's mind-voice was heavy with weariness, dull with disappointment and lingering fear.

_Go to bed, Sorya. We may talk in the morning._

_You . . . aren't coming?_

_I need rest. I will sleep here, and do well enough on my own._

The message was clear - she did not want Sorya anywhere in the vicinity for the night. It would be the first time they parted for more than an hour or two since Corinne had hatched.

Sorya bit the tears back, determined not to cry again that night; but she could not prevent her distress from ringing loud and clear through their bond, and her thoughts were edging towards desperation.  _Corinne, I'm so sorry. You - I almost - I didn't mean . . ._

Corinne finally looked at her, her eyes still and emotionless.  _I know you didn't._

But that was all she said, and eventually Sorya had no choice but to leave. Head low, she began the long walk to her bed. `She did not want to dwell on what the next day was likely to bring.

_And Dornenn . . ._

There was a faint pulse of concern from Corinne, delayed and uncertain, but she did not notice it as she hurried away, tears pooling in her eyes once more; away from the scene of her imbecilic blunder, away from the hard eyes of Eragon, away from the grieved eyes of Ravûn.

_I am nothing but a failure._

†

The storm had spent itself in the night. The air was cool and fresh; and in the Bower, the salt from the sea was muted by the scents of two score different blossoms, situated as it was at the very center of the Gardens, at the intersection of the wide marble crossroads. This late in the evening, the airy space seemed almost to glow. Mellow light touched delicate creepers and graceful willows with a kind hand, and illuminated the motes of fine dust drifting through the air.

Yet no one currently present there took notice of the beauty apparent around them. Sorya wore an expression she struggled to keep neutral, but knew was nothing but pugnacious. She faced Eragon, who regarded her sternly with all the authority and dignity of a judge - as indeed he was, at the moment. Even the glint of the sapphire eyes of his dragon brooch seemed to condemn her. To his right stood Osra and Zelíe, the former impassive, the latter bearing a pursed mouth and pinched brow. On his left were Këyal, unmoving as a statue apart from one slim finger tapping restlessly at his hip, and Ravûn, who seemed to be holding himself still and silent by an immense force of will. His dark eyes held nothing but worry.

_He can take his worry and -_

_They are beginning._  Corinne cut the vicious thought off without compunction, watching the five dragons opposite her shift behind their Riders.  _Keep your tongue well._

Sorya did not answer her.

"Sorya, daughter of Madrí, Corinne, good evening," Eragon said, cool and deep. "We have convened this court to investigate more closely the events of last night, and to decide upon appropriate consequences for your actions. Ravûn has given me enough to understand the sequence of events, as have you, but that is not sufficient. Your fellow Riders and dragons are present as it is my belief that, by being involved in this judgement, they will gain a renewed understanding of the vital importance and responsibility of Rider and dragon; and as it was, in part, their future in Alagaësia that was also endangered, they have the right to decide the punishment as well. Am I understood?"

Sorya exhaled and raised her gaze stonily. "You are."

_You are._

"Is there anything you wish to say before we begin?"

"No."

_No, ebrithil._

"As you wish. Then, I shall detail the events of last night once more, both for clarity and to inform those who do not know the whole story. After the rest of us had retired for the night, Sorya went to the kitchen and removed from it enough provisions to last for five days or so. She then met with Corinne in the Gardens, saddled her, and the two of them left through the Tower. This was despite the dangerous storm raging outside at the time, one which Corinne is not experienced enough to fly through safely."

Corinne's tail swung from side to side briefly, but she made no other move.

"Ravûn and Drëya were awake at the time, and saw them leave. They followed instantly. However, in their haste, they did not think to rouse me or Saphira until they had covered half the distance in pursuit. Their message then only served to wake us, not convey to us what was occurring, and so we could do nothing. I will say that they were heedless in that respect, for they endangered themselves when there was no need. But they are to be commended for the quickness of their response, their skill in catching up in such conditions - due both to Dreya's proficiency in the air and Ravûn's with magic - and for doing their utmost to bring them back safe and whole. That Corinne and Sorya did not meet a fatal accident I can ascribe only to providence.

"Saphira and I met the four of the in the Gardens, almost immediately after they managed to return. They were all dangerously exhausted. I healed them, sent them to rest, and in the morning Ravûn conveyed to me these details in Sorya's presence. He also told me that, in anger, he had broken into Sorya's mind to discover why she and Corinne had attempted to leave, but he would not tell me more than the gist without her permission - which she withheld. Corinne also was unwilling to explain for the same reason. I allowed it at the time, for Sorya was entirely aware that she would be required to explain herself at some point, if not then." Eragon met her gaze steadily. "And that is what I expect now. I am clear?"

Sorya wanted to snarl, to rage, to spit the bitterness rising in her throat out at him. But she knew all too well there was no end to be achieved by that, and Corinne was watching her, sharp and angry in the back of her mind. So she swallowed, and nodded.

"Good. Then, were you both fully aware, last night, that the storm might well prove fatal to you as well as Corinne."

"I was."

"And yet the two of you ventured out voluntarily, on your own initiative?"

"Yes."

"You intended destination?"

". . . Galfni."

"Galfni being your hometown."

"Yes."

"Your reason?"

There was silence.

"Sorya, I remind you once more, you cannot refuse to answer." Eragon's voice was as steel. "Reply, if you please."

_It's all right, it's just - the bare facts, there is not too much shame in that. I can manage that -_

"My father," she said abruptly, "was felled in the battle of Feinster. My brother Dornenn and I were left to our mother, and my uncle, our father's cousin. When she died due to - to an illness, two years ago, we had only our uncle left. He offered to take us in, and we accepted. I worked, I supported the family, and I shared responsibility for my brother with him. But he is not an acceptable guardian. Life in his home is  _hell_." She glared at Eragon fiercely. "That my brother was left to his mercies for the better part of two months is in itself a horror that I was forced to accept. But I came to know, after arriving at the Hall, that my uncle is to be honoured with the Nien Otho."

Eragon frowned a little. "Nien Otho . . . Stone Heart? The ceremony to honour those who have helped the clan recover from the effects of war, yes?"

"Specific to the Vrenshrrgn," Ravûn said quietly.

"For services to the family of a war hero," she spat, "he will receive a handsome reward and Íorûnn's thanks and custody of my brother until he is three-and-thirty. That is ten years too many. I -  _we_  - were attempting to reach Galfni to prevent the ceremony from taking place. It is only ten days from now."

"How exactly were you intending to do so?" Zelie asked.

"By doing something, anything - I could spirit my brother away, injure my uncle enough that he would be unable to attend the ceremony - "

"And remain there?" Eragon asked, his mouth thin. "You did not plan to return, did you?"

Sorya met his gaze defiantly. "I did not."

_There, it is done, that is all he needs to know -_

_How could you say that to him?_

_It is the truth, is it not?_

Corinne shifted again, wings rustling uneasily. Eragon's eyes shifted to her for a moment before boring into Sorya once more. "And your reason for not telling Íorûnn, myself, or any of your fellow Riders about this? You reason for not trusting someone with the power to avert the ceremony, instead of attempting to fly back to Alagaësia by yourself?"

"I -" She blinked, and then scoffed, quiet and sour. "You would not have believed me. Even had you done so, Grimstborith Íorûnn would not. He's a wily one, his reputation is excellent and well-known. No one doubts his word."

"So you decided to take everything upon yourself?"

Her eyes narrowed despite herself. "It is not that I have never tried asked for help, Shadeslayer. It is  _because_ I have done so that I know there is no one I can trust to help."

Eragon gave her a long, blank look, and shook his head a little. "And you, Corinne? What excuse had you to participate in this madness?"

Corinne's head hung lower than Sorya had ever seen it.  _None at all, ebrithil_ , she said, and the tone of her thoughts was soft and ashamed.  _I can only ask for forgiveness, on both our behalves._

Eragon sighed. "The two of you have an importance that goes beyond this place, beyond this time, beyond this generation, even. The Riders are hope personified, and you  _cannot_ underestimate that responsibility. Can you imagine how the country would have reacted if it had been told that a Rider died while at the Hall? Can you imagine the horror, how unstable all faith in the Riders and the crown - the crowns of all kingdoms - would have become? A vast amount of the work done to rebuild the moral strength of the country would have been undone by a single message. And if you had succeeded, the case would have been worse, for all would have known that a Rider and dragon abandoned their duties, and ran and hid like mice, before they had been under tuition for two score days."

Neither Corinne nor Sorya could reply to that. Eragon sighed and rubbed his forehead, looking weary. "Well, perhaps this is not the time to speak of those particular ramifications. Have the rest of you heard all you wish to?"

They all exchanged glances. Zelie was the first to move forward, and they stood together in quiet conversation. After some few minutes, Eragon moved to join them as well. Sorya heard Ravûn's voice once or twice, louder than usual, raised in concern or expostulation, but she refuses to look up from where she had trained her gaze on the ground.

Eventually they broke apart, and Osra stepped forward.

"The verdict we have decided upon is this - both of you are to swear in the ancient language that you will not go beyond five leagues from the Hall without permission given by Master Eragon or Mistress Saphira. You will perform double the allotted amount of chores, Sorya, given that -" She paused, looking faintly regretful. "Given that it was your persuasion that instigated this misadventure. Corinne, we regret to curtail your freedom to hunt in the forests, but we have no other choice. This will be binding for the rest of the season, until spring, and beyond that as for long as Master Eragon wills. Sorya, you will also explain to Íorûnn the situation and request her for help. Master Eragon will help you contact her."

Sorya's head snapped up. "What? No -"

"There is no negotiation in this matter," Osra said with finality. "If you do not, Master will do it himself, without involving you in the process."

Eragon nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. "I will also speak to both of you personally, and alone, after this, as will Saphira. And I may request you to meet with myself and Saphira again at any time for the next few weeks or so. When I do so, you will put aside any and all other obligations until after you do."

Sorya opened her mouth to shout, seething at how coolly they had dismissed her - like nothing more than a problem successfully dealt with -

 _Quiet!_ Corinne snapped in her head.  _We are getting off lightly!_

She whirled to face her.  _You agree with them?! You will allow this? You know that -_

 _We are getting off lightly,_  Corinne repeated sternly.  _Take it and be grateful._

"Have you anything to say?"

Sorya turned back with a snarl. "Oh, I have enough and more -"

_Sorya!_

_I will not -_

Corinne growled, long and vicious, and everyone there looked at her.  _You will. Not another word._

Sorya could have screamed.

She stood trembling as the rest of them began to disperse; trembling with rage, with shame and fear and paralyzing horror at what was sure to be exposed in Galfni.

_They will all know, everyone will know - what will Dornenn do? Where will he go? How will he weather the storm that is sure to break? He won't be able to find an apprenticeship anywhere -_

_Master Eragon wants to speak to you,_ Corinne said, quieter than before but just as unyielding.  _We can meet later. And i would advise you to discuss with him what you are thinking about._

_I - what? How do you expect me to -_

But Corinne had already left with the rest, and Eragon was already standing front of her.

"Sorya."

She glared at his right shoulder, thinking of how satisfying it would be to sink her fist into his face." _What."_

"Shield your mind from Corinne for a moment, if you please. There is something I wish to say to you only, at present."

She was about to deny him, but Corinne heard and did it for her. The loss of the connection, as resentful and distrustful as it had been, left her feeling dizzy and suddenly, achingly lonely. She swallowed tightly, giving him a small nod.

"Thank you. I would like to ask - how old is Corinne?"

Sorya frowned. "Five months old," she said grudgingly. "The reason for your query?"

"I will be blunt," he said, his eyes like steel. "You seem to me a person who would appreciate that - from what little I know of you - but if I am too harsh, you will forgive me."

She snorted, giving him her most unsettling grin. "Go right ahead, Shadeslayer."

He inclined his head briefly. "For a bonded dragon, there is nothing so precious to them as their Rider. They are born with them, their first world consists of only the Rider's thoughts, and their lives are intertwined with the Rider's to a far greater degree than the Rider's is to theirs - at least at the beginning. Yet dragons are born old, with ancient instincts and great force of mind, unlike us flighty mortals. They will learn, but will not be too far influenced. But you and Corinne have proven an exception."

"Get to what you're trying to say," she snapped, her worn patience about to vanish entirely.

He gave her a steady look. "Tell me, how did you feel when she hatched for you?"

"What?"

"How did you feel when your dragon hatched for you?"

"I . . ." She shook her head, suddenly back in an old cavern while a shimmering white gem splintered under her palm. "Happy, of course."

"Say that in the ancient language."

She glared at him.

"Can you not? I think, Sorya, you were more furious at her existence than happy. Furious at this complication that could force you to leave behind home and hearth and a sibling you felt compelled to protect at all costs. And - no, do not interrupt me, unless you can say in the ancient language that there is no truth to my words. And do you think she did not know this?"

She didn't know why he was talking about this, why he was breaking her down by pushing her further and further, and yet she was helpless to prevent him, for she could not remain in silence when he said such things.

"I didn't - why would I ever tell her that -"

"It does not matter if you told her or you did not. She would have known either way. And the reason I am discussing this is to ensure that you understand the entire enormity of your actions.

You, in your frantic worry for your brother, in your single minded pursuit of his safety, neglected her. You make up so much of her world, yet you never wanted her, never wanted to be a Rider; you were always longing for home. You will tell me if I am mistaken, but did she not demur when you told her you wished to return? Did she not urge you multiple times to tell someone, instead of taking the entire burden upon your own shoulders? Did she not persuade you, as many ways as she could conceive of, not to go, especially in that storm?"

"Stop, stop! We discussed it, discussed everything, and she understood - it is not that I coerced her into anything - !"

"Sorya, when her Rider was frightened and desperate to return, when she believes her Rider cares more for her brother than for her, will she not swallow her more desperate objections to ensure her Rider's happiness? I do not think she felt that she had any choice in the matter. You effectively chose your brother over her, did you not? Tell me if I am wrong."

Sorya could not respond. It seemed as though a mountain of ice was crashing down on her, chilling her heart and freezing her limbs as horror seeped through her.

_Did I truly make her feel so? I would have noticed, wouldn't I? Would she keep that hidden from me? Did I hurt her so deeply? I didn't want to, of course I never wanted to, but I can't refute anything he says -_

"I love her," she whispered, staring at her feet.

"Of course," came the reply, and the tone of his voice was somewhat softer. "But that does not mean you did not hurt her . . . She too is young, yes? She would not have known how to weight her words stop you. Neither could she ask anyone else for advice, for to do so would be to divulge your secrets."

"But what could I do?!" The tears were pooling, were streaming down her face, but she could not care less. Something had broken in her heart, and it was leaving her weak and trembling and desperate in the wake of its tumultuous passage. "I know I was - I did not behave towards her as I had ought, but you do not know what I have left behind! I had to go, there was no other choice - my father trusted him, my uncle,  _trusted_ him to keep us safe, unharmed, and that is the one thing he has not done! He is - he is violent when he's had too much mead, and a capricious and greedy and arrogant person, but no one would believe me! He  _killed_ my mother, it was his fault, h-he had always env-envied my father his wife, and - " She choked, gasped, began again. "And he had not enough control. He left her weak, drained, but she still protected us both. And then she succumbed to her injuries, and there was only myself and my weak magic and I - I tried telling people, I tried, I swear I tried, but they would not listen. I abandoned that, and I learned, I grew stronger, and he never touched my brother, not once in those two years, but now I am gone, and he must have - have already suffered more than I have ever protected him from just in these two months - and now you want to - Íorûnn - the courts are not discreet, the whole clan will know, our family will be dishonoured for ages to come -"

Her voice had become almost a scream, but she only realized it when Eragon raised his hands placatingly. He looked nothing but concern now, as he absorbed her expression and her words.

"Sorya, calm yourself, please."

"Don't tell me to  _calm_  - you don't understand - "

"I do, I assure you I do. But listen to me - why would you not tell me of this? It is my duty to care for you all, to teach you, and if I had known of this I would have requested Íorûnn to find your brother a more suitable guardian weeks ago. You could have trusted me."

"Words," she whispered, wrapping her arms tightly about herself. "Words are nothing. How could I know I could trust you?"

His breath left him in a quiet, shocked huff, and he took a step away from her, turning to the willows in contemplation. Eventually, he said quietly, "My apologies for causing you such distress. I am sorry to hear of what you went through, and I swear it shall be remedied to the best of my power. All I wished to achieve by speaking to you now was to bring you to an understanding of how exactly you have affected Corinne, and to request you to mend your bond with her. That is all. That was also why I wished to continue to meet with the two of you for some time, to ensure that all was set to rights. . . but that may wait. Tomorrow morning, meet me after we break morning fast. We will decide when to contact Íorûnn together, and you will soon receive assurance from her own lips that all adverse effects will be mitigated as far as possible. Are we agreed?"

She took a deep, shuddering breath. " . . . we are."

"Good. Then I will see you tomorrow." As he passed by her, he squeezed her shoulder lightly.

It was a small comfort, but it did nothing to lessen the force of the sobs that slowly dragged her to the ground, to curl her head into her knees as she tried to muffle them. When her grief was finally spent, night had long since fallen, and her apologies, whispered to the night sky and too numerous to easily count, she left behind her as she stumbled away from the scene of her trial.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't realize until this rewrite was happening that the relationship between Sora and Corinne was, entirely unintentionally (on both my part and Sorya's), emotionally abusive. I hope that at least I've rewritten it in a more nuanced manner.


	13. To Rebuild, To Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connections are reforged, strengthened, and Sorya receives the reassurance she so desperately needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Not very thorough editing, because I wanted to get this up ASAP. The only thing I'm sure turned out reasonably well is the bit with Roran. Let me know what you thought!

 

_Two days later_

Corinne shifted a little, trying to find a more comfortable position. The corridor was not quite meant for dragons, and she was only settled so far inside because she was the smallest of them all. Sorya's palpable tension was not helpful in inducing comfort either, though she tried to mask the sensation.

There came a tinge of sheepishness, and Sorya curled up a little smaller in the hollow of Corinne's neck.

_. . . sorry for that._

_No matter. It is not an easy thing, what you are about to do._

_No._

_But it is the right thing._

_I suppose. It's just -_

_I know._

They were quiet for some time, Corinne's calm soothing Sorya to some extent.

_. . . Corinne?_

_Yes?_

_If Eragon had not forced it from me . . . would you have told him?_

Corinne blinked once, a plume of smoke drifting from her nostrils as she arranged her thoughts.

_I think so, yes. Not immediately, but eventually. Once I had tried and failed to convince you more than - shall we say, a dozen times?_

Sorya snorted softly, but the undercurrent of hurt and remorse lingered. Corinne grumbled low in her throat, swinging around to face her.

_If you intend to wallow in regret and pity once again, I'd be well pleased to bring the bones from my next hunt back to your room. Yes, I would have told him at a point, because your fear and your anger blinded you. But I would not have done it of anger or rancour - I would have made sure to wait some few days to be sure that that was not my motive. I would have done it of care for you because - for the last time - I am not angry at you. I do not resent you. You are forgiven, completely and unconditionally. So I would be well pleased if you ceased to tiptoe around me. You hear me?_

_I do . . . thank you._

_Hmph._  Corinne settle her head back down, content in Sorya's small smile. Waver though it might, the strength at her core was beginning to rekindle, and that was sufficient for her.

They waited. It had been inevitable that getting in contact with Íorûnn would take a while, and though the time had been prearranged, she was notoriously capricious with respect to timekeeping. Still, she was not likely to keep the Shadeslayer waiting too long, and they had arrived early as well.

The tedium was relieved by the sound of shoes striking the floor, growing steadily closer. In a minute, Ravûn rounded the corner. He was dressed as though for training, and sweat beaded his brow.

Sorya got to her feet, mind tensing instantaneously, and Corinne suppressed an automatic snarl at the reaction - at the  _cause_  of the reaction.

"Ah, you've not yet gone in. I was afraid I might be too late." He spoke in the dwarves' tongue, and Sorya settled, just a little. " _Derûndânn_ , Sorya, Corinne."

" _Derûndânn,_ " Sorya murmured uncertainly, fingers opening and closing like butterflies by her side. Corinne chose to remain quiet and watchful.

"You are sure to be called soon, so I will make this quick. We have not spoken, you and I, since that night. While there may be much to be said, or none, as you prefer, there is one thing that cannot be left unsaid." He bowed at the waist, straight and sharp, Az Sweldn rak Anhuin fashion. "I apologize, Sorya, for the unpardonable act of breaking into your mind. While in the storm, there was the excuse of necessary communication - after, there was no excuse but that of my ire, and that is no excuse at all."

_I - what?_

Corinne snorted with amusement.  _An apology, child, and done well. You could stand to learn from him._

_Yes, yes. What do I - how do I respond -_

_You could request him to cease bowing, for one._

"Lift your head," she said hastily, and Corinne snorted once more.

Ravûn did so. There was a brief, uncomfortable pause while Sorya worked out what to say.

"You know," she said abruptly, "I'm rather tired of skulking away whenever you are nearby because I am ashamed. And I'm aware you must think me the most bullheaded person in existence, and the least likely to admit her own faults, but I am only so stubborn when the cause means so much to me. No, your apology is not accepted, Ravûn, because I am well aware I provided you with enough and more provocation.  _I_  apologize for being reckless, for not heeding you, and for neglecting to thank you for turning us back from . . . from that venture."

And she bowed in turn.

Ravûn was still for a moment. Corinne was still not the best at reading two-legs' faces, especially when they were so much shorter than her, but she rather thought Sorya had confounded him. She wondered if he would have reacted differently if he knew the sweeping current of chagrin and nervousness running through Sorya..

_That's a very helpful thought, thank you, Corinne._

_Well._ Corinne yawned.  _It was, in truth, nearly as an good apology as his._

_Ugh. Getting the words out was like spitting poison -_

"Lift your head," Ravûn said, sounding a little off-balance, and when Sorya did so, he smiled sheepishly. "My thanks. I'm afraid . . . I think I rather misjudged you. Ah, I -"

Eragon's voice reached them through the thick door, sounding pleased. Ravûn glanced at the door. "You will be needed soon. I just wanted to say -" He hesitated a moment more, and then stuck his hand out in front of him, human-fashion. "Friends, yes?"

Sorya looked at his hand, and couldn't suppress a small, relieved smile as she shook it gingerly. "Friends."

"Very well then, I will leave you to it." He bowed once more, to both of them, before taking his leave.

Sorya slumped back against Corinne's side, sighing in content relief. Corinne nudged at her, humming quietly, absorbing her nerves in placidity. They listened to Eragon's voice for another minute or so before the door creaked open.

"Sorya?" Eragon called. "You may enter."

At once, the fear rose once more to thrum in her veins. Corinne nudged her back gently.

 _Go_.  _You will do well._

Sorya gave her a weak smile, took a quiet, unsteady breath, and went inside.

†

Íorûnn was already present, reflected in a mirror of beaten silver that was marked by a hammer and stars etched into the top. There were several others in the room, arranged in a pleasing curve, all marked differently at the top.

This Sorya would recall later, however; at the time, she paid them no heed. From the moment she entered, her entire attention was focused on Íorûnn and Íorûnn only.

"Well well," the clan chief drawled, crossing her legs gracefully as rich tapestries fluttered on the walls behind her in the wake of a passing breeze. "In trouble already, little one?"

She, too, spoke in the stone tongue. Sorya, however, had no complaint - if the entire conversation were incomprehensible to Eragon, she would be well pleased.

" _Derûndânn_ , Íorûnn Grimstborith,' she said with a bow, trying not to let her uneasiness make her words curt. "My - my sincere apologies for troubling you."

"Ah, do not apologize for that, dear child." Her eyes twinkled. "On the contrary, I am glad you afforded me the chance to look upon yonder Shadeslayer's fine figure once more."

Sorya darted a hasty glance at said Shadeslayer and, with growing horror, noted a faint stain of red in his cheeks.

_He understands it all perfectly!_

But when he replied, it was with nothing but affability. "I am glad that seeing me affords you so much pleasure, Grimstborith," he replied, in perfectly accented dwarvish. "May I say, once again, how fortunate I am to speak to you once more since Orik  _könungur_ 's coronation."

Several such pleasantries passed between them, each more complimentary and - in Íorûnn's case - more flirtatious than the last. Eventually, however, when Sorya was struggling not to fidget impatiently, they got to the matter at last.

" . . . and now, I think, we may look to the issue at hand," Eragon said, smiling politely. "Sorya has a matter to bring to your attention, Grimstborith, one that worries her sorely and refuses to allow her to focus on her duties as Rider. I would be grateful if you would set her mind at rest."

"Why, of course," Íorûnn said, slim eyebrows raising above her dark-lined eyes. "King Orik had not mentioned this. Surely, the matter shall be rectified, no matter what it may be. Tell me, little one, what it is."

Eragon nodded slightly, stepping back. Sorya swallowed, lifted her chin, and spoke her story.

She did well enough, when she thought over it later. She neither raised her voice nor lost the thread of her words, though her voice became unsteady in some part upon occasion, and she maintained a passably dignified tone throughout. Íorûnn listened in silence, eyes blank and face calm as ever as the recital progressed.

After, before she could speak again, Eragon said, "As you see, the charges are quite serious. You would have my gratitude, Íorûnn Grimstborith, if you would move to rectify this as soon as may be. We cannot have a Rider pining for home and family, with such worry and fear weighing on the mind, when there is so much to learn and explore at the Hall."

"As you say," she said, slow and thoughtful. "This is an accusation indeed. It will be investigated thoroughly, you may be sure. The Stone Heart will not proceed until the charges are resolved, either way. Rider Sorya, if indeed your brother is to be moved to reside with a new family, you may speak to them first and assure yourself of the hearth he will be welcome at. And I myself will ensure that your brother faces as little repercussion as possible, if he receives any at all. On this, you have my word."

Sorya bowed, momentarily unable to speak. But one did not betray weakness before the Grimstborith, and she made sure to blink away her tears of relief before they were apparent.

 _Thank her, as prettily as you can,_  Corinne said then, and so Sorya did her best. Íorûnn waved away all of it airily, saying that it was only her duty. She promised to provide the Hall with further information two days thence, and waved them farewell with two fingers, only pausing to send a last, delicately charged remark Eragon's way.

Sorya would have left, then, giddy with joy and tentative hope, to get away and release her tears (it was far too many tears she had shed, the past few days. Corinne whispered  _Making up for lost time_  in her head, and Sorya nearly choked on a tearful laugh) but Eragon stopped her.

"I just wanted to say to you," he said, looking mildly uncomfortable. "I - feel responsible, in part, for I knew you were unhappy and my efforts to ascertain the cause were not as relentless as they should have been. That you felt you could not trust me is also my wrong. For this, I apologize."

_He - what?_

Sorya stared at him for a moment too long, and the disbelief must have been evident in her gaze, for Eragon laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and suddenly looking far more like the human half her age that he was. "It is so impossible to believe?"

"No one with any authority over me has ever apologized to me in my life, Eragon- _ebrithil,_ " she said, blunt in her surprise. "I am grateful - and I am happy, I think, that the first one was you."

He blinked, then grinned, bright and wide, and she couldn't help smiling back as she continued. "But I cannot allow you to take the blame. I was hardly a model student."

"Ah, well." He shrugged, still smiling. "We shall wipe the slate clean, yes? We start afresh, from this moment."

"As you say. My thanks, Master. For all your assistance."

"It was nothing more than my duty. Join the others - I will be there soon."

She nodded and walked out of the room, light and joyous and more free than she had been in years.

†

Eragon sighed softly, a smile still pulling at his lips. A certainty crept over him, at that moment, that a good rapport was finally likely to be established between himself and his most recalcitrant student.

He turned to the other mirrors, scanning the various markings at the top. A crown for the mirror at Illirea; a leafy branch for the one at Ellesméra; a mountain for the one at Carvahall; an axe for the one with the Herndall; and a jewel for the one at Aberon. He faced the one that would allow him to contact Roran, and spoke the appropriate incantation.

The silver bangle he wore at his wrist hummed and grew warm, signaling that its cousin, leagues away on his cousin's arm, was doing the same. It was etched with all the same markers as the mirrors, and a small chip of agate under the mountain glowed faintly. On Roran's side the same would be occurring, though the mountain would be replaced instead by a dragon in flight.

The glow faded abruptly, signaling that Roran would accept the message and had indicated as much, and so Eragon settled down to wait. It was not ten minutes before the mirror shimmered to life.

"Good morning," he grinned.

Roran scowled vaguely in the mirror, scratching at his stubbled chin. "Mornin'," he replied. "Of course you'd have to wake me to speak to me, eh?"

"Come, it's not nearly that early. You're becoming lax in your old age."

"Truth be told, I was laying in," he admitted, yawning hugely. "Katrina's taken Gerand to see Gertrude, he's had a fever and a rash. I haven't got a wink of sleep in three days, I tell you. Ismira never fussed this much."

"Not serious, I hope?"

"All the old mares say it's not. What do I know? Though if it were, Katrina would've taken him to that bright young magician who never stops chattering. Why Nasuada felt the need to assign her to Carvahall . . ."

"'Your family is a magnet for enough trouble, and I'd rather have someone who can work with magic present, if the need arises, as it is sure to,'" Eragon recited. "She has no faith in your hammer, eh?"

"My hammer is long gone. Can't remember the last place I put it to save my life."

" _Such_  an old man."

"Aye, aye." Roran waved a hand, yawning again. "Well, how goes it with your troublesome student? Knocked some sense into her?"

"Ah, it was not sense she lacked. Only fear that clouded her mind. But yes, I think she is well enough now. She's unfurling, slowly, and it is good to see. You can make out what her dragon saw in her, now that her worst sides are no longer those she is forced to inhabit."

"Mhm. Spoke to the dwarf clan leader?"

"Not quarter of an hour ago. It went well."

"Good to hear." Roran propped his chin in one hand. "So what's the problem?"

"What problem?"

"You might look like a damn cat, but you haven't changed so much that I can't tell when you're worried over something. Used to take you ages to spit out whatever you were mulling over. Remember when you broke that shovel, Father had to threaten to tie you outside to get you to tell us why you were moping?"

Eragon grunted. "Oh, I remember."

"I should hope so. Well then, spit it out."

"Nothing, just - I was not as good a teacher towards her as I ought to have been. I didn't do enough to find out why she refused to engage with being a RIder. And, if I'm being perfectly honest, it was - I was miffed by the very fact that she refused. It was not just negligence, it was indignance. If  _I_ could embrace being a Rider when I was destined to face Galbatorix, what cause had she to complain, when she being tutored to be a hero of the new age? It was wounded pride, unworthy of me, and I regret it. That is all."

Roran's gaze remained heavy on Eragon's face, brown eyes serious and thoughtful. "I see."

Eragon waved a hand, laughing a little. "You needn't look so. I understand my mistakes, and I will do better. I will not rest until I do better."

"Hm. Just don't go overboard in your drive to improve. Once you get a maggot into your head about something, getting it out is nigh impossible . . . while your teachers were all old and experienced and what-have-you, you have only just passed four-and-twenty years. Be guided by their memories and how they taught you, but also remember that you cannot immediately be as wise as they were."

"Aye, I hear you. You needn't worry. Neither you nor Saphira nor Arya would let me do anything to tarnish my glorious name."

Roran smiled slightly. "How is Arya, then? Haven't heard from her in a bit. Busy keeping you in line, eh?"

"As you say. I haven't taught more than once in two days, these past few weeks." He sighed. "She thinks me far too fragile."

"Hah. How long has it been, since you were poisoned?"

"Nigh on a month and a half. Yet she will have it I am not fit to teach."

"Have a sparring bout with an elf in the mirror room, prove to her you can hold your own."

"If only that would convince her . . . but I'll think of something."

"Well then, while we're on the subject - how're the nightmares?"

The question was sudden, as quiet as it was sharp. Eragon smiled ruefully. "I really cannot hide anything at all from you, can I?"

Roran snorted. "There's naught to discern, it's clear to the dullest eye. I've not seen you with such shadows under your eyes save for when you were to battle that Black King, may crows spit on his grave."

"They're . . ." Eragon sighed. "They're well enough. Nothing I cannot take. Nothing to be worried for."

"Sure?"

"Very."

"Right then. All else is well? No dragon knocked off another turret?"

Eragon snorted. "Oh, they try. But no, not as yet. All is well . . . Ah, I forgot to ask, the last time - how does Ismira like her new brother?"

"She didn't think very much of him until she left her new doll by his crib and he tried to chew the head off. Then she had quite a lot to say."

"The daughter of Roran Stronghammer has a doll? I expected her to be wielding a sword by now."

Roran made a face. "She's only six. And Katrina is the one who gave it to her. Gods forbid she gets her grubby paws on a sword, all of Carvahall'd have to evacuate to escape the danger."

Eragon chuckled. "That, I'd like to see."

"Ah -" Roran held up a finger at a jumble of rising voices, turning to look over his shoulder, and then turned back with a scowl. "On the bones of my father, the meatheads can't take care of aught on their own . . . I'm needed, Eragon. We'll speak later?"

"Of course, of course. Next time Murtagh and Nasuada visit, come with them, yes?"

"If the children are old enough, doubtless we will. Be sure not to worry over this matter anymore, that of your red-haired dwarfling. She'll make a better Rider for this adventure, I don't doubt."

"Aye, though I could wish the lesson had been less bitter. I will not worry, don't doubt it."

"Well then, take care of yourself, keep your students in line, get back to contacting me every week -"

"Yes, yes." Eragon grinned. "My love to Katrina and Ismira and Gerand."

"Of course. Farewell."

"Farewell."

The image faded. Eragon sighed and stretched, swallowing the peculiar mixture of comfort and homesickness that was always left behind when he concluded a conversation with Roran, or anyone at Carvahall.

_Eragon -_

_Hmm?_

_You might like to get to the kitchen. Mánya tells me more than a quarter of it is currently on fire._

Eragon laughed, already reaching for the door.  _On my way._

†

_About an hour before_   
  


_Satisfied?_

_Very. It went far better than I hoped._

Ravûn couldn't hear it when Drëya snorted, since she was lounging in a pool of sunlight somewhere so high up he'd never been, but he felt it as if it was his own snout, and he wrinkled his nose at the sensation.

_I still believe she deserved it._

_That's not very generous of you . . ._

_I do not suffer fools kindly._

_That you don't,_  he agreed easily.

She snorted once more, using his eyes for a fraction of a second.

_Where are you?_

_Almost at the Gardens. I've naught to do, I may as well attempt the Maze once more._

_You could find better things to do with your time._

_Such as?_

_Sharpen your steel teeth._

Ravûn stepped onto white marble, proceeding down the southern corridor.  _You mean my starmetal teeth? Or rather, tooth?_

 _Your_ steel  _teeth. Not the sword. The axe, the lance -_

 _Ugh, the lance. A more ridiculous weapon for a dwarf I never did see._ He glanced at the cotton fields on his right, evaluating their progress. They would be ready just as spring ended, he thought, giving them enough time to spin and weave new cloth. Cotton was, by far, the best material for summers, if not the most durable for a Rider.

_Don't let your mind wander when I'm speaking to you._

_Ah, sorry, sorry . . ._

_And you cannot afford to neglect the lance, nor any other weapon. You never know what circumstances you may be thrown into._

_As you say._ He ducked under two low hanging branches, festooned with winding creepers, and entered the Maze, taking a deep breath of cool, moist air.

She sighed, a massive rush of air leaving her lungs.  _You're hopeless._

 _Don't get sunstroke, delva_ , he answered, cheerful and absent minded.  _Is a left a better idea, or a right . . .?_

_Don't call me when you get stuck._

_I'll fly out myself if I get stuck._

_Does that not defeat the entire purpose of the maze, then?_

_It_ is  _called unsolvable for a reason . . ._

_The elf solved it._

He stopped short.  _Why must you poison my thoughts with him now?_ he lamented, only half joking.

If dragons could smirk, he knew she would be smirking.  _Oops._

 _Don't 'oops' me,_  he grumbled, starting forward again.

_Why, I thought he was becoming more tolerable these days. No?_

_That's no tall order, seeing as before he was a curse on the face of the earth. It's suspicious besides, his sudden about-face._

_You know the reason for that. There's no one at the Hall who does not._

_. . . all right, , I cannot trust him._

_Now you understand how I feel about that Sorya -_

His groan was half laughter, startling a jay out of her nest.  _Go back to your sunbath and let me get lost in peace, delva._

She sniffed, but did so, and he was left to wander on his own.

Which he did for close to three quarters of an hour. Despite what he had told Drëya, he did not try to navigate; he only walked, enjoying the quiet as he tried to see how many types of plants he could name. Most others preferred the light and pretty bowers of the gardens in the northwestern quadrant, but there was a sense of beauty, of quiet and unstoppable power in nature that one could only sense in the Maze.

Eventually, he stepped into a tunnel formed by thickly interweaving branches. They would grow more tightly interlocked as time passed, letting in even less light than what managed to filter through that present. Yet someone had placed here a stone bench, he remembered, to enjoy the peace here. He would sit quiet for a time, and then depart to assist with preparing lunch.

Yet when he came upon the bench, it was already occupied. Dara sat with her head in her hands, mumbling a steady stream of what he discerned to be cursewords after a particularly pungent one caught his ear.

He walked up to her, unable to refrain from smiling. " _Derûndânn,_ Dara."

She looked up with a start, then relaxed, smiling gratefully. "Oh, thank the gods that you came along. I thought I migh' be stuck in here for ages."

"Why, where is Celesté?"

"Waitin' for me at the entrance. She couldn't fit in many spaces here anyhow, and she hates it when it's too closed for her to spread her wings."

"Ah, I see. Could you not call for help? Send a message, or mark your position with a burst of fire, or some such - ?"

"Ah, I'm still not used to using my mind wi' anyone but Celesté. And I can't use magic like you lot, can I?"

"You - ah, yes. Pardon my mistake." He had forgotten that none of the Riders had been told they could use magic until they discovered it for themselves. "Only, I know Sorya has wards, and Ahhtar just discovered magic not two days past, so -"

Dara laughed. "Aye, and he was happier than any Urgal that ever swung their first axe when he did so. Sorya, though, she knew magic before she was a Rider, so I've heard."

"Ah, I see."

Were you goin' to stay?" She gestured to the bench upon which she was seated.

"Why yes, I'll confess I had the intention."

"Good. Sit, then. Unless I'd be disturbin' you?"

"Not at all." He seated himself, arranging his limbs comfortably. "An impressive display of cursing, by the by, if I may so say."

She looked a little sheepish, but grinned nonetheless. "Why, thank you kindly. In my town, only thing you picked up before your first cuss word was how to walk."

"I don't think I remember the name of your town?"

"Lighthaven, it's called. Southwest of Cuenon - I think I told you that much? - and you can see Du Weldenvarden on clear days. Or you used to, before the Empire chopped down half the trees for siege engines. Cut my father clean out of a year's work, they did."

"He worked as a . . .?"

"Woodcutter. One of many, given that we lived in a place where ten months of the twelve you barely had sunlight."

Ravûn pursed his lips slightly in distaste. "Sounds dreary. You do not sound as though you harbor fond memories, either. Why not move elsewhere?"

Dara smiled wryly. "Ah, that . . ."

"If you'd rather not answer -"

"Nay, it's all right. My father met my mother there; I was born there; she died there. He just . . . could'na bring himself to leave."

"I see," Ravûn said quietly. "My apologies for prying."

"It's no matter, as I said." Her eyes twinkled faintly. "Besides, I've the right to pry in return now, yes?"

Ravûn chuckled. "It's as you wish. I've nothing that must needs be hidden."

"That so? We'll see. I know hardly anything about yourself, your life before you came here, though we've known each other for nigh on two months now."

"Well, you're free to ask what you wish."

"What's your family like? Brothers, sisters? Both parents, one, or neither?"

"Why, I have no family."

She frowned, tilting her head to one side like a bird. "Orphaned? I'm sorry - "

He sighed. "No. You know my clan name?"

"I - I know the name . . . There's a significance I'm unaware of?"

"Well, yes. But it's not part of tuatha du ororthim, so do not let it bother you . . . Dûrgrimst Az Sweldn rak Anhûin hate the Riders and all they stand for with a vengeance. We once tried to assassinate Master Eragon - yes, I know; terrible. You cannot imagine the depths of our hatred. We blame the Riders for the death of Anhûin, a leader of theirs from times long past, and have dedicated our existence to avenging her by any and all means possible. And so, when my family heard an egg had hatched for me, I was promptly disowned."

Dara looked suddenly subdued. "Oh," she murmured, staring down at her fingers. "But then - how did you touch the egg at all? Would they not have prevented you?"

He sighed again, scratching at his beard. "Well, you see . . . the entire clan was banished due to the treachery of attempting to kill a guest - that is, Master Eragon. No  _knurlan_ from any clan would trade with us, barter with us, buy our jewellry. We had nothing, despite our stockpiled wealth. The only way for the clan to be recognised once more is for us all to renounce our Grimstborith, Vermûnd, as we ourselves had been renounced by the rest of the world. But there are still those who cling to the old ways, who roar with him in his rages and justify his wrongdoings; my family among them . . . ah, that is besides the point. The story is that I was in Tarnag to see if I could possibly scrounge some supplies from anywhere, for there is always one unscrupulous  _knurlan_ who will be willing to barter for the right price - or to steal them, if I had no other recourse. And I was not the only one from my clan who did so.

"But what I did not know was that Queen Arya was in Tarnag that day, having brought the dragon's eggs. And so caught up was I in wandering the streets, gaping at the glory before me like the young fool I was, that I was too slow to avoid  _knurlan_ from the Rider's Council. Those worthy humans, elves,  _knurlan_ , and Urgalgra who have been chosen to assist with the rebuilding of the Riders, well . . . they were picked well indeed. They came scouring the streets for suitable candidates - that is, anyone under the age of three-score years, for it has been the young ones that the dragons would favour in years past, has it not? They dragged me to the egg - and I could not tell them what my clan was to be released, for then all chance of gaining any kind of supplies would be lost - and I thought I might just tap it quickly and escape, but . . ." He tilted his left palm, allowing the silvery circle to catch the gentle light that streamed between the branches above them. "When I returned home with the gedwëy ignasia and two polite elves in tow, well. As you can imagine, I was thrown out then and there."

Dara hummed softly. "My apologies for asking," she said. "It must have awakened painful memories."

"They were for a time, yes, I cannot deny. But I soon grew to realize how much better would be the life I would live than the one I was leaving behind." His mouth quirked up at the corner, though he knew his eyes were still distant. "I very badly wanted to apologize to King Orik for the predicament I had put him in. The first dwarf Rider, but by the law of the land, he was bound to ignore my very existence. I remember Drëya was quite cross with him, though she was hardly the length of my arm at the time."

Dara chuckled, stretching her legs out. "What, then, did he do?"

"Well, we completed tuatha du orothim with the others, and we travelled with Queen Arya until all four eggs had hatched. By that time, my clan - well, most of them - had unequivocally renounced Vermûnd and his leadership. Those who did not were renounced as well. They were desperate, you see. If a member being a Rider was the only way for them to make a living again, they would take it. And so King Orik was permitted to shake me by the hand, months after I became a Rider."

"Mmm. I see."

"A valuable lesson in dwarf politics, eh?"

She laughed at the sally, and they fell into quiet. Ravûn was grateful, for he could be sure to swallow the rising threat of tears. He had made his peace with the memories, but he could do naught to lessen the sting they still had.

It was some time later that Dara spoke once again.

"Ravûn?"

"Hm?"

"I'm aware it's a delicate question, but - did whatever was troublin' Sorya get resolved? She's far different now, and I've not much clue what to make of it."

"Ah, yes. At least, it is in the process of being resolved."

"And you're th' only person to know what it is, apart from Master Eragon."

He winced faintly, but she did not notice. "That . . . I am."

"Mm." She sighed and tipped her face to the sky. "Quite a bit of redemption goin' round, eh? Between her and Këyal. I'd have to say I'm loath to give her a chance, for I never did meet anyone like her for turning clear sky into thunderclouds - and I've known lads who were near as nothin' to the pigs they raised. It grated on us, Aki and Cas and I, it wore us all down. But you'd say she had good reason?"

"I would. Give her a chance, Sorya. You'll not regret it."

"Is that so?" She grinned suddenly, her teeth bright in the gloom. "I'll do so, if you'll stop skittering around Këyal. He's been tryin' to work up th' nerve to approach you, and it's been making  _me_  jittery for days."

Ravûn couldn't help how his eyebrows pulled together at that, and he knew she saw it. "You tell me he's frightened of me?"

"He's nervous, you know? He's a little shy under it all, for all he seems all cool and smooth as any other elf, and he knows how he's pushed you all away. Worst of all, he believes he don't deserve another chance from any of you. So he won't come nearer than ten feet to you unless I'm pushin' him. But he does deserve that chance, truly he does. He's not hardly as bad as you think. It's my promise, now - you'll not regret it."

He met her earnest gaze for a moment or two, then groaned, looking down. "He has a good friend in you," he sighed. "I'll do it, so long as you will too - for Sorya. Are we agreed?"

She grinned. "We are."

"My apologies if I'm rude, but - why the kindness towards him? Not now, but before you knew him, when he was still cold - did he not call you halfbreed? Did he not threaten to strangle you?"

"Why, how do you know that?" She sat up straight, giving him a piercing look. Her mouth was pinched in irritation.

"You'll soon find out that dragons gossip like nothing on earth. Their curiosity generally tends to overrule their pride."

Dara huffed, crossing her arms. It was some moments before she replied.

"Well, I suppose that was my reason. Curiosity, I mean. Bein' half elf meant nothing to me for most of my life, only that I'd to tie up my hair before goin' to town lest the boys whistle at the silver shine; only that part of me was foreign, unreachable, distasteful to most. Then Celesté hatched for me, and with Queen Arya and the Rider's Council we travelled the country with the other eggs, as you did. I saw cities for the first time, I saw women and men of other races for the first time, and I was learnin' about much I'd never dreamed of. Here, then, was th' chance to cure the curiosity I'd suppressed my whole life about my mother, about all elves. To come to the Hall, to live with Eragon Shadeslayer and th' greatest elven spellcasters of the past centuries was a blessing for me, desperate to learn as I was. But when I got here - well. You were witness to that delightful reunion with my grandmother, weren't you? And so Këyal was, for me, th' only one who I thought would not be so rigid as to turn me away, who might sympathize, who could teach me. A young elf, couldn't be too different from a young human, I thought." She grinned suddenly. "And I was right. Ah, I'm glad I'd pinned those hopes upon him, for then frustration would never have forced me to confront him, and I'd be left only to glean what I could from musty scrolls "

"True enough . . . I understand."

"Not a bad reason, eh, Nightrider?"

"No - what?" He blinked at her.

"Why, it's Aki's new name for you, from your midnight flight not four days past. He was quite pleased with himself for thinking it up, you were to be the only one left he had not bestowed with a title - what's the joke, now?"

Ravûn covered his mouth with a hand, shoulders still shaking with laughter. "Of all the names - why not Stormrider, then? Oh, sweet Kílf, have mercy - "

"Spirits above, what is it?" His laughter was infecting her as well, slowly but surely. She was hard pressed to stop her smile.

"The - irony is the word, yes? The one Rider who's afeared of the dark, he had to name Nightrider. Oh, my." He wiped the last of the tears away. "I must ask him to change it."

"That he won't," Dara laughed. "If there's anyone who'd beat a bull at stubbornness, it'd be him."

"I'll try, anyhow. Ah, we should leave. It will pour soon, and the Tower won't be closed today, for the cotton needs the water."

"Oh, surely. But how do we-? You know the way out?"

He stood and began walking, and she followed. "Of course not. We just need to find a suitable place to - ah, this should work. Don't lose your balance, yes? It makes it harder for me." He raised his left hand.

"What - ah!" Dara yelped as she was lifted into the air by his side. "Warn me before you do that!"

"My apologies," he chuckled. He set them down almost at the end of the southern path, just before the bower, and Dara stumbled when her feet touched the ground.

"Honestly," she said weakly, bending over and pressing a hand to her chest. "Warn me next time."

"Yes, yes. Shall we move to the kitchen? I was to assist with the preparation of the midday meal. You will come?"

"Surely, I've nothing else that needs doin'. But -" she frowned a little, looking around. "I think I hear something."

"Oh?"

She turned to the right, facing the eastern corridor as she tilted her head. "I think it's Master Eragon?"

In another moment or two, Ravûn could hear him too as he called out.

"Dara, will you join us at the beginning of the path, please?"

"On my way, Master!" she called back. She gave him a hesitant look over her shoulder.

"I should go as soon as possible -"

"Of course, of course. I will be right behind you."

She gave him a quick smile and was off, sprinting like a young deer. Ravûn sighed softly, and followed at his own pace, passing between the fields of grain and fruit that flourished. It was just as it began to rain that he arrived at the cavernous curving corridor at the beginning of the path. Akhtar, Caspian, and Sorya were all assembled there along with Dara and Eragon, seated on some of the stone benches that lined the path.

" - and thus I thought it would be appropriate to -" Eragon caught sight of Ravûn and broke off. "Ah, good morning to you."

"Good morning. Am I interrupting - ?"

"Not at all, you may stay if you wish. You've heard it all before, besides."

Ravûn smiled and took a seat, settling down to listen. Opposite him, Sorya caught his eye for a brief moment before looking away quickly, smiling in a way that look reluctant. Ravûn's own smile grew wider, and he turned to Eragon, pleased.

Eragon cleared his throat softly. "As I was saying, the four of you have had odd classes here and there over the last few weeks, and there was, of course, always sparring, but altogether the education you have had so far has been fragmented. For that, I apologize; and I thought I should make the schedule we are to follow clear. You may have heard most of this from your fellow Riders, but please bear with me.

"So. By the time you leave here you must be reasonably proficient with most any weapon and in any language spoken by any races in Alagaësia. This is the practical side of your education. On the theoretical side, you will learn about mathematics, philosophy, history, geography, science, and about the various plants and animals of Alagaësia; and you will learn how to think. That is, you will be introduced to and encouraged to think about various morals and societies, and learn to apply the powers you have been gifted with in an appropriate manner. Being a strong Rider is something anyone may be with enough practice, but being a wise and well-loved one is something entirely different. Am I clear?"

Satisfied with the murmured chorus of "Yes, master," he continued, "Another very important thing that you will learn is how to control your mind and how to fight with it. These three form the major facets of your education here. Of the seven days of the week, the first and the fourth are to be devoted to various lands and histories, the third and the fifth to the languages, and the second to mind control and exercise. On the sixth, we revise what has been taught on the other days, and the last day is for you to spend as you please. Every morning and evening we will spar with different weapons for an hour and a half. It may seem a little monotonous, but as you progress your timetable will change and you will also find a great deal of variety in what you learn. And you will already be aware of this, but there are services you are expected to perform as well - cooking, weeding, cleaning and so on. These will be in tandem with your lessons. If any of the elves request you to assist them with anything, please obey them without demur. Saphira will be speaking to your dragons soon as well. They will have a separate timetable except for the second and third days, when they will study with you. Have you any questions?"

"No, Master!" they chorused.

"Good. Well, then, consider this my proper welcome to the Hall of the Riders." He smiled around at them as he stood. "I hope it will seem like a home to you before long, and I hope you will be happy. Please keep in mind that you may speak to myself or anyone living here about any concerns or problems you may have whenever you please. We will begin classes tomorrow, an hour after sunrise." He gave them a final bow and walked off, leaving them to murmur amongst themselves.


	14. Forgiveness and Faelnirv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reassurances are given, and news comes in the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very late happy new year! ^.^ I continue to be surprised by how many people are enjoying this. Thank you for your support, and I hope you enjoy this chapter !

_Several weeks later_

 

“Andlát? You named it Death?”

Zelíe smiled at the amused question, smoothing a hand down her rose-hued sword. “So I did.”

“Why on earth?”

“Simply because the colour causes death to be last thing people expect the blade to provide them with.”

Dara propped her hands on the pommel of her own sword, grinning. “I’d imagine that every Rider that was ever paired wi’ a pink dragon gave their swords the most ferocious names.”

Zelíe laughed. “I would imagine so. And . . . my apologies, but do use ‘with’, rather than ‘ wi’ ‘.“

“Ahh, what’s the difference?”

“As I’m sure Master Eragon would have told you -”

“Refinement of speech leads to refinement of the mind, yes, yes, I remember.”

“Well, it is true. Have you thought of a name for your own sword?”

Dara tilted the silver blade, watching the light ripple down it in a lovely arc. “I’d thought perhaps Starbiter?”

“ _Evarínabitr_? Nice, but a tad clumsy on the tongue.”

“Argetbitr?”

“Ravûn has already named his Svartrbitr, you know.”

“Hmph. Well, there’s no rush, for I’ve a good year or so to settle upon a name, yes?”

“True indeed. Shall we begin, then?”

“Ready when you are!” Dara presented her blade to Zelíe, and she quickly called upon her magic, guarding the edge in a matter of moments.

“There now.” She stepped back, settling into her stance, Dara following suit. “Remember to be lighter on your feet, faster when you move, and to watch, rather than see.”

“Understood.”

“On guard, then!”

They clashed once, twice, and again, the ring of metal on metal adding to the din in the training room. Dara had improved, as she did every session, and her elven grace seemed only to have accelerated the process.

 _She will match me fairly soon,_ Zelíe thought as she parried. _I’ve no need to shout commands any longer._

There was no little pride for her friend in the thought, as she knew herself to be one of the most skilled with a blade at the Hall - more so even than some of the elves, for many of them had only familiarized themselves with a sword recreationally, though that in itself would outstrip most human swordswomen and swordsmen by a wide enough margin.

They broke after an hour, both with sweat-dampened shirts and sweat-beaded faces. Zelíe took a moment to catch her breath as she sheathed her sword.

“A good bout. You’re by far better than before. Have you been practicing outside of training time?”

“Aye, I’ve -” Dara paused, panting. “I’ve been sparring a bit wi’ - _with_ Këyal in the evenings. I thought, since he’s so fast, if I could at least hold my own against him, I’d have a good chance against the rest of you all.”

“Këyal, eh?” Zelíe glanced across the room to where Këyal was sparring with Caspian before looking back, her lips curving. “I see.”

Dara groaned, turning to replace her sword. Zelíe caught the hint of a new flush on her fair cheeks as she did so, a deeper red than the one she had obtained as they sparred. “Not this again.”

“Why, I said nothing!”

“Right, right.” Dara made a face at her. “Well, I’ll be leaving.”

“Mhm.” Zelíe gave her a knowing look. “I need to clear up, I’ll meet you later.”

“You’re the worst, Zelíe,” Dara threw over her shoulder as she left. Zelíe only winked at her before turning to survey the progress of the others.

Osra and Senshi had just concluded a match, and were in the process of bowing as they disengaged. Këyal and Caspian were still sparring, as were Sorya and Ravûn - and Kitai and Akhtar. Zelíe watched them for a moment or two before she realized that her mouth had grown hard and thin of its own accord.

 _Curse it._ She looked away to watch Senshi string a bow and move to the archery range, attempting to divert her thoughts, but they remained on the distasteful track they had been set upon. It was only when Osra came to stand next to her that she managed to divorce her mind from them entirely.

“A good match?” she asked.

Osra raised her head a little, the ghost of a smile flitting across her face. “Indeed it was. Senshi is a worthy opponent. Yours?”

“The same. Dara learns fast.”

“Faster when she has an elf to train with.”

Zelíe glanced at her, somewhat surprised. “How did you know that? She only just told me.”

Osra met her glance placidly. “Këyal mentioned it in passing.”

“Ah.” Zelíe’s gaze switched to Këyal and Caspian once more, watching as Caspian strained to block a powerful overhead blow. “Is that so? You’ve become fairly good friends with him, I see.”

“I see no reason not to. He seems to me to be a worthy comrade. Have you not?”

“I have not . . . given how he had behaved for three years past, the distaste for his company I have developed is enough that I struggle to overcome it.” She smiled slightly. “But somehow I doubt that will remain so for long. There is . . . a certain air about him now, an attitude that is hard to resist. Besides, I never could resist an underdog story.”

Osra snorted. “That air is of honesty, one he believed he was forcibly restrained from assuming before; that is the only reason it is now appealing in any way. All you require is to give him forgiveness.”

“Not quite my forte, Osra. But I hear you.”

“I hope so.” They fell silent for some minutes, watching the others. It was only when Ravûn managed to knock Sorya’s sword entirely out of her hands with a clever twist that Osra spoke once more.

“How do you think she is progressing, our fiery one?”

Zelíe tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Better than before. I think she need not restrict herself to sparring with Ravûn any longer - she will certainly be able to hold her own against myself, Kitai or Senshi. You, I doubt. The power and height are too different between you two.”

“Do not let her hear that.”

She chuckled. “Perhaps if she honed her finesse. She is all attack, little to no defense, and while the bold strikes may disorient enemies, while they may cause uncertainty, they leave her open to retaliation from those more skilled. She is suited to a battlefield, not a swordfight.”

“Mm. My thoughts precisely. She must learn, too, to keep a clear eye with which to view the fight. She is not overeager to anger, but once she is, she sees naught else.”

“True enough. But that was something we all struggled to learn, was it not?”

Osra inclined her head. “That it was.”

Këyal swept his blade towards Caspian’s legs, and, worn out as he was, he stumbled after he jumped. It was the matter of a moment for Këyal to flick the tip of his sword to his throat. Caspian froze for a long moment, and then relaxed, laughing sheepishly. Këyal smiled, muttering something in return as they both sheathed their blades.

“Ah, I nearly forgot  - I had something to ask you.”

“Oh? Ask away, Osra.”

“Your hair is - is different somehow? It has been bothering me for weeks now, but i simply cannot - what is the phrase? - put my finger on it -”

Zelíe burst out laughing. “It is indeed,” she chuckled. “It is now flaxen, rather than gold, thanks to our training outdoors.”

Osra smiled, her deep blue eyes gleaming with amusement. “That is all? Such a difference it makes.”

“It does indeed.” Zelíe shifted her braid over her shoulder, tugging at the end gently. “So too my complexion has become sallow from what my sisters used to call peaches-and-cream, and so too my hands have become calloused and torn when before they were as soft as lamarae. If my mother could see me now, she would be utterly appalled. She would most certainly go into vapours.”

“Is that so?” Osra’s gaze became penetrating. “That bothers you?”

Zelíe smiled, laying a hand fleetingly on Osra’s arm. “It would have before - as you know too well, my friend. But where there would have been shame, there is now only amusement - and perhaps some vain regret, if I am honest. My thanks; I am flattered by your concern.”

Osra snorted. “You are easily flattered by many things.”

“Well, that I cannot argue with . . “

Within another ten minutes, they had all sheathed their swords and replaced them in their niches after Akhtar disarmed Kitai with a mighty blow. Zelíe leaned against the wall, watching them file out, as was her duty that day. Kitai met her eye for a fleeting moment, but she glanced away deliberately, to where Senshi was unstringing the bow she had been using. She caught a sigh from his direction before he walked out behind Sorya, and looked down at her fingernails, tamping down a surge of irritation.

 _If all he intends to do is ignore the issue, I’ve more than enough patience to wait until he pleases to speak. Of all the bullheaded -_ She exhaled sharply. _A good thing he’s on kitchen duty today. And what on earth is taking Senshi so long, how much time does she require to unstring a bow -_

She turned to tell Senshi to lock up if she was to take much more time, and was startled to find her waiting quite close. Her amber eyes flicked between her and the door indecisively.

“Are you waiting for something, Senshi?”

“I - wanted to ask -” Senshi cleared her throat, one hand fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “He - did Kit tell you about what Master Eragon wanted us to decide?”

Zelíe’s brows drew together without her consent, dull hurt welling up in her throat. But she kept her voice steady as she replied, “He did, not a week past. Why do you ask?”

“Had he made up his mind?”

“He has not,” Zelíe said, curter than she would have liked. “We argued over the matter. We continue to do so. Why do you not ask him yourself?”

Senshi frowned slightly. “I did. He will not answer.”

“And so you ask me. I am entirely aware you do not consider me a bosom friend, Senshi, but I do not appreciate your questioning me at your convenience. If you would like to find out what he is thinking, you may mend your bond with him enough that he will do so. I do not wish to become involved between you two.”

Senshi’s eyes flashed at that. “Neither do I have any desire for you to -” She stopped short and took a quiet breath, closing her eyes briefly. “I did not mean to upset you. If I did, I apologize. I only wished to know what you encouraged him to do, what may be motivating him as he makes his decision. I - would not wish for the two of us to part ways after leaving the Hall, and he _will_ not speak to me. Please. I would not ask had I another choice.”

Zelíe met her gaze for a charged moment, then sighed, rubbing her neck with one hand. “He wants to stay while the rest of us leave. I was trying to convince him to come with us. He says this is his land, these are his people he will be leaving behind, and I understand that pride, but . . .”

“There is no place for a Rider here,” Senshi said quietly.

“Precisely so. Alagaёsia has desperate need of Riders, and if he was never thinking of coming at all, why stay and learn to speak the stone tongue and the Urgal tongue? Why learn of Alagaёsia’s history at all? I understand that leading a life in a different country is daunting, but he will hardly be alone, and he will be doing work that is very necessary. What is left for him here? Or for you, for that matter?”

“True enough. And . . . you will pardon, but - it is also that you do not wish to be parted from him, no?”

There was just the barest hint of challenge behind the word. Zelíe crossed her arms, closing her mouth tight. It was true, but to hear it stated so candidly somehow caused tears to prickle behind her eyes.

“Yes,” she said, after a silence. “I do not wish to be parted from him - even though, there, we will most probably be working in quite different parts of the country. But at least he would be five days’ flight away, not two weeks’.”

Senshi blinked, as though she had not truly been expecting her honest answer. “I see,” she said slowly. “Thank you, Zelíe.”

“You have naught to thank me for,” Zelíe sighed, suddenly tired. “Only . . . please convince him to come. You know it is the right choice.”  
“I believe it is, yes.” Senshi tilted her head, her gaze now curious, cautiously searching. “You . . . truly care for him.”

Zelíe’s laugh was more choked than she would have liked. “I do. More than I have ever cared for anyone. And what caused you to finally realize it?”

Senshi smiled, hesitantly, as though she was unsure if she was allowed to do so. Her reply was slow to come, but when it did, it was by far more candid that Zelíe had expected. “That particular expression of combined - exasperation? - and affection, I’ve only seen between those who care for each other beyond most everyone else.”

To that, Zelíe had no answer. It was only when Senshi nodded farewell and made to step past her that she found her voice once more.

“Wait!” she said. “I - it was not in jest, what I said before. Mend your bond with him, Senshi. He - he is not entirely whole without you.”

Senshi’s eyes darkened, just slightly, but she nodded, and when she walked past Zelíe, she left her with a brief touch to the shoulder. And she was left alone in the empty training room, a bittersweet mixture of pain and affection flooding through her veins with every beat of her heart.

 _Fix this, Senshi,_ she thought, resting her head against the cold wall for a moment and closing her eyes tight. _Fix this, for I do not know how to do so._

 

†

 

_Late that night_

 

“Ye,” Dara said authoritatively, one wavering finger pointing at Caspian, ”canna hold yer liquor. A’ _all_.”

Caspian winced, resting his head in one hand as the world seemed to tilt around him. “Can you not . . . your accent gets far worse when you’re drunk. It’s much more, how do you say . . . diff - difficult, it is more difficult to understand you.”

“Mah accent’s perfectly fine, thank ye ver’ much,” she said, patting the ground beside her. “Where’s th’ damn gourd?”

“You had twice as much as me -”

“An’ ah’m holdin’ it better, like ah said!” she roared, her voice echoing down the corridor. “Ye’ve skipped righ’ta th’ mornin’ after already, haventcha?”

“Quiet,” Caspian, hissed, struggling to wrestle his unruly tongue into forming coherent words. “You’ll call attention. And you know I had seven siblings, you think I had time to go out and learn to drink?”

Dara giggled and took a swig, part of the faelnirv trickling down the corner of her mouth. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. “That’s why ah’m here ta teach ye, aye?”

Caspian groaned playfully, leaning back until his head rested against the stone wall. “You’re a horrible friend to have.”

Dara pointed at him with the gourd, giving him a clumsy wink. “Ah’m th’ _best_ type of friend ta have. Who taught ye all the slang she knew in two weeks of meetin’ ye?”

“I repeated only a single word to Zelíe once, and I’ve never seen her look so . . . shocked. Ever.”

“Who introduced ye to steak n’kidney pie?”

“And a more repulsive dish I’ve never encont - enounct - met in my life.”

“Who taught ye ta string yer first bow?”

“That, you did.”

“Ah’m sure Zelíe was impressed by _tha’_ , eh? Yer nearly as good as me wi’ a bow.”

Caspian grimaced, poking her in the side as hard as he could manage. “Do not even - I know there _ain’t no hope_ , as you’d say. Do not tease me.”

Dara swatted his hand away. “Leave her be, boy. She’d not fit ya’ by any rights, and Kit’s hard ta compete with. A racsap - a rapscallion, ya know? Got that spark in his eye and spring in his step, the one tha’ girls swoon for leagues away. Bu’ he be good ta her, he knows the worth o’ what he has.”

“My thanks for the advice,” Caspian muttered. “I’ve no spark, eh?”

“Oh, you have. Jus’ a different one. One tha’ ain’t meant fer her.”

“Tch.” He plucked the bottle from her side and took a long, deep draught.

“Ye’ll find a better lass, don’ doubt it.”

“Well, if you find her first, be sure to recommend me to her,” he grumbled. Dara laughed, patting his cheek gently.

“I’ll be sure ta’. Now, we’ve had a good long talk, but -” She heaved herself to her feet, leaning against the wall for support. “I’ve an early morning on the morrow, an’ we’ve been here hours already. Ye be sure not ta fall asleep here, yeah?”

Caspian gave her a flat look. “If you do in fact manage to wake early tomorrow, I will do your chores for a week.”

“Done!” Dara tossed him the nearly empty gourd and mussed his hair roughly. “Drain it, bury it, burn it, or Ellaer-elda will hunt us down with pitchforks. Nigh’ nigh’, Cas.”

“Night,” he called after her receding figure. He sighed and drained the gourd, hardly registering the taste as it hit the back of his throat.

 _Hopeless, hopeless, so they all say, do they think I do not know? It is a waste of my time and my energy and my focus, but ahhh . . ._ He dropped the gourd and buried his face in his arms, fighting the rising, absurd urge to cry. _She is so lovely, I cannot help but admire her. Even though it is a betrayal of him, too -_

“Cas?”

He looked up, the figure crouched in front of him slowly coming into focus.

_He who is . . . right in front of me -_

“Kit!” He sat up straight, hastily pushing aside his despondency so as not to betray himself. Kit looked him up and down, making a show of wrinkling his nose. His eyes were dancing with laughter. “I don’t think anyone else breached the stock of faelnirv so fast, after arriving here. Your courage is admirable - especially since you are sitting where any might stumble upon you.”

Caspian held his arms out imploringly. “Save me,” he mock-whispered. “It was all Dara’s fault! I’m far too young to be skewered by an angry elf!”

Kitai chuckled, pulling him to his feet. “Unable to walk?”

“I’ve no idea. Let’s find out -?” Caspian shook off his arm and attempted to walk a straight line, placing one foot carefully before the other. He made it six steps before stumbling.

Kitai was quick to catch him, slipping a steady arm around his waist with a grin. ”Most definitely unable. I will help you to your room.”

“My thanks,” Caspian mumbled, allowing him to take most of his weight.

“Your room is the third or the fourth floor?”

“Fourth.”

Kitai hummed in a mildly disgruntled manner. “Climbing those stairs will be a chore.”

“You will help though, will you not?” Caspian fluttered his eyelashes clumsily, and Kitai leaned away with a groan of laughter.

“Your breath _reeks_ of liquor, did you drink half the stock? If we happen to come across an _elda_ , be quiet and stay still, and they just might decide to be merciful.”

“Teachers who could disem- dismem - cut me up me in my sleep without a sound are not at all what I was expecting when I came.”

Kitai snorted, the soft puff of air ruffling a curl or two of Caspian’s hair. “At least you had _some_ idea of what to expect.”

There was an underlying current of bitterness to those words, but Caspian’s mind was by far too clouded to even begin to decipher it, let alone reassure his friend. So he did not address it, and the journey upstairs was uneventful apart from Kitai’s quiet pants as he began to feel Caspian’s weight.

“Careful as you step . . . there, we’ve arrived. All right, now?” Kitai shrugged Caspian off carefully, and he reached for the door with a nod and an unsteady hand, wanting nothing more than to sink into his bed and sleep for a day and a night.

“Cas -”

He turned, yawning. “Yes?”

“When I came upon you - was something worrying you? Is there anything I can help with? You seemed . . . sorrowful, unhappy.”

Caspian belatedly realised his face had twisted into something sadly sardonic, and hastily rearranged it into a more bemused expression. “Nothing at all, just the melancholy that comes with a little too much to drink. I’m well enough, I swear.”

“Hm.” Kitai eyed him for a second, then nodded uncertainly. “If you are sure.”

“I am.” Caspian smiled, raising one hand in a wave. “I will see you tomorrow, yes?”

Kitai inclined his head, smiling in return as he took his leave. “Sleep well.”

“And you.”

Caspian was just closing the door behind him, all assumed cheeriness drained out of him by fatigue, when there was a soft shout.

“Wait!”

Kitai hurried back to the door, his shoes clacking on the stone floor. “Apologies, I am aware you must wish to rest more than anything, but I could not rest if I did not tell you -”

He fell silent, worrying his lower lip with his teeth - an uncharacteristically nervous gesture in one of his irrepressible self confidence. Caspian narrowed his eyes, a slow anxiety building in his chest as he wondered what this was about.

“What is it?”

“Just - I heard yourself and Dara speaking. Before. I didn’t know what to - I did not realize the subject of your conversation until I caught my own name, and then it was too late to turn back, I could only stay still and hope not to be heard. My - my most sincere apologies, I should not have eavesdropped -”

Caspian reached out to grip the doorframe as well, his dizziness suddenly multiplied tenfold as his words sank in.

“You . . . you heard,” he whispered, tears of horrified shame rising behind his eyes. “And you, _you_ are apologizing? I - Kitai, I am so sorry. You should never have known, I can - only imagine what you must think of me -”

“Ah, no, no, do not!” Kitai made a quick gesture with his hands, nothing but regret and concern in his gaze. “I could not blame you for anything, not in the least. There is no fault of yours. On the contrary, it is I who should have apologized for not noticing, for not realizing - I am certain I made things more difficult for you, without the intention. If I did so, I ask pardon.”

Caspian stared at him wordlessly for a long moment. Then he swayed forward, nearly falling into Kitai’s shoulder, who staggered a little.

“You truly are a good person,” Caspian muttered into his shoulder, not caring that the foolish tears had escaped. “You never did, and I ask - ask pardon as well. I had no - no unsavoury designs upon her, I swear -”

Kitai patted his back soothingly, and when he spoke, his voice was tighter than usual.

“Of course, I never thought that. Not for an instant. I am not - I have hurt people in the past, people close to me, simply by my ignorance, by neglecting to pay enough attention to what had been obvious to the dullest eye. I did not want that to affect you as well, for you are a good friend, and I would not lose you through my own fault.”

Caspian laughed through his tears, sounding faintly hysterical to his own ears. “Am I so?” He pulled back, wiping his face with an unsteady hand. “Then you are, to say the least, a remarkable friend. I am - glad to know you. More glad than - than I can say.”

Kitai smiled, gripping his forearm. “I will not ask if I can help, the question is ridiculous in itself. But if you need to speak to me, at any time -”

Caspian returned the pressure fiercely. “Thank you,” he said, the words almost vehement. “Thank you, Kitai.”

Kitai nodded once, slipping his hand out of Caspian’s grasp. “You’ll not forget this tomorrow, yes?”

Caspian sniffed. “To be sure. It would be a shame if I did.”

“That it would.” Kitai clapped him softly on the shoulder and turned to leave. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Caspian called back, his heart lighter than he could have hoped for not half an hour past. “And thank you once more.”

 

†

 

Senshi paused with her hand raised to knock, staring at the bottom of the door. _There is no light._

 _Then he is either sleeping, or elsewhere in the Hall._ Ikraan yawned, causing phantom muscles to stretch in Senshi’s jaw. _Sleep now, you may find him on the morrow._

You cannot ask Palé?  
_  
_ He is out on a late night flight.

She sighed, allowing her hand to fall. _Zelíe’s words have been eating at me the whole day._

_You two have managed this long - you can afford to wait one more night._

_I suppose . . ._

“Senshi?”

She turned to see Kitai coming towards her, one eyebrow quirked inquiringly. “Looking for me?”

He spoke in their own tongue, and she followed him with an easy relief that she would not need to consider how appropriate was each word before she spoke. “I was. But if it is too late to speak -”

“Not at all. Unless it is a very weighty matter?” He pushed the door open, entering before her, and she followed.

“You may say so. Whether it’ll take much time to discuss, though, that depends on you.”

He gave her an amused look over his shoulder. “Is that so?”

“Mm. Oh -” Her gaze fell upon his desk, where there stood a small, unfinished wooden carving of a wolf with a sparrow perched upon its head. “The wolf-and-sparrow!”

“Aye. You remember it?”

“Surely, how could I not?” Senshi ran a fingertip over the wolf’s snout, smiling in spite of herself. “When he told us the story, I cried so much, remember? Because I wanted to be the wolf.”

“And I very graciously let you.”

“Nonsense, you fought with me so much that papa wrapped us up in bedsheets to make sure we didn’t touch each other.”

Kitai chuckled quietly. “He never told that story again.”

“A pity. It was my favourite.” She sat on the edge of his bed, trying to think of how to begin, how to proceed. As siblings, and more so as twins, their fights had hardly ever ended in apologies. There used to be only a few hours of each ignoring the other, followed by some offhand gesture - an absent remark, an invitation to go play, finding some small treasure to give to the other - to indicate that all was forgiven, if not forgotten. But that would not suffice now as it had in the past; for the wounds were too deep, the words left unsaid too heavy between them. Kitai seated himself next to her, waiting without complaint for her to speak - thought there was some tension in his expression, as though he expected her to attempt to discover whether he planned to leave or stay once more.

_How, then, to make him see? To catch him off guard?_

“Do you . . . remember her? Lady Lidéna?”

She saw the bedsheet crease a little in his fingers. “Not clearly. Not anymore.”

“She must have cast some spell, for I cannot recall her features with any clarity either. I only remember that air of - of power, and danger, and beauty too alluring to be human.”

“Why do you speak of this? Of her?”

“Do you resent her? For pulling us into this, this world of politics and intrigue that is not our own, being trained for something that has never been part of our lives?”

He met her eyes for a heavy moment before looking away, out of the window. “I did,” he said quietly. “For she never even gave us a choice. But I learned to leave it behind, for there was no use in railing against it once all was done.”

“Yet you always seemed happier here than me.”

His mouth twitched into a bitter smile. “I adapted faster than you. But I clung to home more - as I still do.”

She drew in a breath, hugging her knees to her chest. “And that is why . . . you do not wish to go?”

His gaze flicked back to her, suddenly sharp. “How - Zelíe told you?”

“You left me with no choice but to ask her.”

“You were not supposed to know before I decided - I wanted time to make up my mind.”

“And have you done so?”

“Have you?”

It was her turn to look away now, to stare unseeingly at the gleam of lamplight on the polished wood of his desk. “I believe that to leave is the better option.”

“Why so?” His voice held a raw note she had not been expecting, and she swallowed.

“We are needed there, not here. We have been learning all this time to work there. Not here. And we have nothing left here, only a mother crazed with hate and grief. Where would we live? What would we do? Eke out a solitary living apart from the rest of the kingdom, when we know what we know? What we learned what we’ve learned? Could you be content thus for close on an eternity?”

“Could you live there?” he countered. “Among cultures we have only studied or heard of? Living a life dedicated to working for the improvement of people who are not even our own?”

“How does it matter whose people they are, Kit? They are people, and they need us to keep the balance. They have no system of magic like ours, and so they depend on the Riders. I do not think it is ideal, but that is they way things are. We could try to change it, perhaps, if we went. And they are Zelíe’s people, Aki’s people, Dara and Këyal’s people, Ravûn’s people. Will you deny them because you - you are frightened of what might await you there?”

There was a silence as he stared at her, surprise and hurt and something searching in his eyes. Then he laughed, short and choked, and raised a hand to his forehead.

“You - gods, you are entirely right. A coward, am I not?”

She slipped an arm about his shoulders, holding tight. “You’ve the right to be afraid . . . you won’t be alone, remember.”

“I know. It’s just -” He ran a restless hand through his hair. “My _shikha_ ceremony should have been done months ago, do you realize that?”

She sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. “I know.”

“I miss home. Not mama, but _home_. Ourselves. Our lives. Even praying thrice a day, even fasting on the second day of every second month - all of it.”

“You always were more - more grounded in it than I was,”she murmured. “It all meant more to you. But we can come back, we can visit - perhaps even make our bow to the king and queen, if we work up the courage for that, yes?”

He snorted, “That’s not -”

“Not impossible. It’s not probable, but it’s at least a possibility.” She shifted back so she could look him in the eye. “So . . . you will come?”

He smiled weakly, but the hand that ruffled her hair was strong. “I will. Thank you for speaking to me, convincing me.”

She smiled in return, looking down at her lap. “You need not thank me for that.”

He did not reply, not until she looked up to find the reason, and when she did she saw something unexpectedly vulnerable in his eyes.

“Not that I am not glad that we are once more as we used to be, Sen, but why did you suddenly choose to - we have not truly spoken as we once did in more than a year, and after the Vilta, I thought . . .”

Something cold settled in her stomach at the hurt in his words. “That is - the fault is mine.” She shifted away from him, hating how small her voice sounded. “I . . . apologise.”

“There _was_ a time when you would have used my blood without hesitation, was there not? “

“Of course there was, Kit,” she said instantly, desperately. “Of course there was.”

“But that time is - is it not past?”

“We could bring it back, I know we could. I - I’m sorry. I pulled away from you, and I should not have, for you were struggling as well, I was foolish and I envied how seamlessly you fit in with them when I could not. I’m sorry.”

He reached for her hand, held it tight. “And I am sorry for not realising how deep your hurt cut, how deep your anger at mama and your loneliness cut. There is fault on both our sides . . . we will do better? We will trust each other as we used to?”

She returned the pressure, smiling more easily than she could remember doing in weeks, and her words were a promise she vowed never to break.

“We will.”

 

†

 

Arya laughed, cupping her chin in one hand. “And thereafter?”

Eragon sighed, his mouth curling up on one side. His shirt was unbuttoned enough that the skin of his chest gleamed in moonlight, and he cupped a crystal goblet of mulled wine in one hand.

“And thereafter I pulled them apart, lectured them, and sent them in opposite directions. Upon my sword, they cannot go two days without bickering like children.”

“Well, such situations are to be expected to arise frequently when one decides to teach.”

“True enough.” He tipped the goblet to his mouth, taking a deep draught. Arya’s eyes flickered down to the sharp line of his throat and thence to his collarbones before returning to his face; and she was forced to swallow a sudden surge of longing as he smiled at her, mouth stained red anew.

“I’m sure they would give even you a hard time.”

“I did teach them, you remember? Tuatha du orothim. They gave me no trouble of the sort they seem to provide you with in abundance.”

“Ah, they had not blossomed then to reveal the full extent of their mischief.”

“I will trust your word on the subject . . . not to divert the discussion, but has something untoward occurred, Eragon?”

“And why do you ask, my queen?”

She gestured to the goblet he held. “You drink rarely, and never to an extent that causes you to slur your words so. Certainly not with wine rather than faelnirv.”

He chuckled softly. “Guess, then.”

“The nightmares.”

He tilted his glass toward her. “Precisely.”

“They still come every night?”

“Hmm, not every night. But most. And when they do, oh . . .” His smile twisted into a grimace. “They are more vivid than normal dreams, too tangible to be nothing more than mist. I am reminded of nothing more than the first time I dreamt of you, in Gil’ead, and that was no fantasy, yes? Every - every horror I see seems as real to me as you are now. I do terrible things, I witness terrible deeds being done, and who’s to say that _they_ will not one day become my reality and you -” He gestured to her, and to the room around him, the crystal flashing in his hand, gaze suddenly haunted. “You, my love, and this, all of this, will not fade into fantasy? Who is to say I will even notice if that were to occur, as warped as I feel my mind becoming?”

Arya could have cried out at the pain in his voice, at the way it tore into her heart. Instead she straightened her spine, and pressed a hand to the cool surface of the mirror, and spoke his true name softly.

The syllables seemed to resound in the air long after they left her lips. He blinked as though she had slapped him, part of the haze vanishing from his eyes.

“I say so, for _that_ is who you are.” She swallowed the waver in her voice, and replaced it with steel. “You are someone who will not succumb to these twisted visions. You are Saphira’s Rider. You are Kingkiller and Shadeslayer, you are the new hope and the deliverance of an entire country, and you are the one I love and trust beyond everyone else. You will triumph over these horrors, Eragon, do not ever doubt that. And you will always have myself and Saphira to watch over you. Never think that we will let you fall."

He was utterly still for a moment. Then, he slowly kissed his fingertips and pressed them against her hand, his eyes more liquid than was usual.

“I know not what I did to deserve you,” he murmured, “but I am forever grateful that I did. Thank you, _nuanen_.”

Her fingers curled at her side, but she kept her composure. “Rest,” she whispered. “For your students’ sake. If any demons visit in the dark, I will fight them for you.”

He smiled, bright and full. “Always my saviour.”

She smiled back, though she felt as though it was trembling at the edges. “Stay as strong as I know you to be.”

“If you so command me, why, I have no other choice. I will not fail you.”

“You never have.” She blinked away the tears in her eyes, taking a deep breath to ground herself. “Good night, Eragon.”

“Good night, Arya.”

It was only after his image faded into nothing that she curled up in her chair and allowed her pain to be felt. To be situated thousands of leagues away while her struggled so left her feeling utterly helpless, and frighteningly desperate. But she could do naught except encourage him, and trust in him to keep himself safe.

_Ah, yet what I would give to be at his side now . . ._

It was at that moment that there came an insistent knock on the door. She sat upright, erasing all trace of her tears with a deft hand.

_At this time? What could it be?_

“My queen?” someone called in the old tongue. Young, insistent - Vanir. “I beg your pardon for disturbing you at this hour, in your private room, but there is something you must needs be informed of.”

“I will come,” she called back, donning her cloak as she stood, and, with it, the visage of her authority. When she opened the door, she knew there was no trace of grief upon her face.

“What is it?”

Vanir met her gaze squarely, though she could easily detect the anxiety in his demeanour. Arya noticed he was turning the ring on his ring, a habit that he exhibited only when he was distinctly disturbed.

“King Orrin and Queen Nasuada have both sent us urgent communications in the past half hour. Since you were occupied, they were taken by Lady -”

“That does not concern me at the moment,” she interrupted, her tone intentionally cutting. “What was the communication that was so pressing at this time of the night?”

Vanir swallowed. “The children of Alagaësia . . . they are being taken. They are vanishing, none know how or by whom. And among them is the young prince Charles . . .

Arya stopped dead in her tracks.

" . . . King Orrin's son."

 


End file.
